Picking Up The Pieces
by JPC
Summary: Sequel to Carry That Weight. After closing the Hellmouth, Buffy and the surviving Scoobies limp to Los Angeles, where Wolfram & Hart are eager to tangle with the newcomers as well as Angel. Dawn and Anya join AI. Spike returns. Lindsey. Kate. CD AB
1. Start with disaster

The setting is the Hellmouth, which is now closed. The 120 foot-wide, sixty foot-high steel and brick dome the First built atop the Hellmouth has been damaged by the severe earthquake that occurred only seconds earlier. Of those who fought, only the five surviving Potentials-turned-Slayers (Rona, Amanda, Madari, Fadila and Ariella) are left standing, though Amanda and Fadila, both badly injured, are propped up by Rona and Fadila, respectively. For her part, Madari is bleeding heavily from a cut on her forehead and feels dizzy because of a minor concussion. Faith, Kennedy and Andrew lie dead. Spike was vaporized near the center of the Arena, an area now covered by heaps of fallen brick. The lower thirty feet of wall, covering the outer perimeter of the building, survived intact, providing shelter and shade. The entirety of the structure's steel skeleton survived, an eerie, overbearing reminder of the First's once-enveloping presence. From left to right, Willow, Dawn, Anya and Giles lie on the ground. Buffy lies just to Rupert's right, and Xander kneels to Willow's right. Two medics each work frantically on Giles, Anya and Willow. Angel and friends have just arrived, and are overwhelmed by the carnage. Angel stands to Buffy's left. Connor kneels to Dawn's left, holding her left hand. Wesley stands in front of Faith's body, trying to make sense of the war zone as the new Slayers gather behind him. Gunn and Fred keep their distance, looking on from atop some rubble thirty feet away and feeling very much the outsiders. So this is what the Hellmouth looked and sounded like: blood, screaming, death, agony, suffering. And that was after a victory.

"We got a pulse!," a medic working on Giles announces, to Buffy's enormous relief.

"Take him to the field hospital," the man in charge of the operation commands.

"Is it still standing?," the other medic working on Giles asks, on account of the very recent and very strong earthquake.

"It better be." They put Giles on a stretcher and quickly wheel him outside to a helicopter. Buffy and Angel want to follow. But she can't, because her right leg is broken. And he can't, because it's a little past eight in the morning and the sun is out. A medic tries to work on Buffy, who in addition to the broken leg has a large gash just under her left rib cage which, to someone who doesn't know she's a Slayer, looks mortal.

"I'm fine!," she insists. The guy assumes she's in shock.

"You need to lie don't. Don't move."

"It's okay, Buffy," Angel offers. "He's here to help. You did your job. Now let him do his and you'll be fine." Already in great physical pain and even greater psychological pain, Buffy figures she really is dying. Otherwise, why would she conjure this hallucination of Angel to comfort her?

"She's not breathing!," the woman tending to Willow yells out. The commander walks over to have a look.

"Patient's comatose," a male medic reports.

"And possibly brain dead," the leader whispers under his breath as he looks at her severe head wound. "She needs a respirator." The two medics carry Willow out. Buffy notices, and sits up as Willow goes by. Everything's coming unraveled. The person tending to her stomach wound pushes Buffy back down as another medic tries to put a splint on her broken leg. No longer able to look at Buffy's anguished, teary face while knowing he can't help her, Angel stands up, turns around, looks down and puts his right hand to his eyes. He takes a couple steps, sees Faith's body on the ground through his fingers, and takes his hand away from his eyes. Wesley stands just to his left. She looks so peaceful and serene. The mortal wound, which entered through her back and pierced her heart, is not even visible. Given how banged-up the survivors are, it's shocking to see a casualty look so unscathed. Any moment, they expect her to open her eyes and stand up.

"When you face death every day, you stop taking it seriously," Wesley begins. "You forget how easily lives can be lost, and how fortunate you are to have survived this long. Faith, too, had been fortunate. She survived her own recklessness, though she did not intend to. But even Slayers are mortal." The talk of mortality seems odd to Angel, until he realizes that Wesley is mostly talking to himself, and partly talking to the Potentials standing behind Wes. Then Angel counts them. He remembers Wesley's theory about how to kill Nina, and realizes they're the only fighters standing. The five Potentials must be Slayers. But how? This only raised more questions. And Angel already had plenty of those.

"Everything's gonna be alright. Just hang in there, lover," Connor says to Dawn as he holds her left hand in his left hand and tries to wipe the tears from her eyes with his right. Through all the tears of mourning and pain, he looks really blurry. She blinks twice. Still blurry.

"Connor. Connor? You can't be. You're not. You're not real." Connor's astonished. And a little hurt. Their relationship was the one thing is his life that wasn't a lie.

"This," Connor says, kissing her left hand, "is real. We're real." He leans down and kisses her forehead. Dawn figures she's passed out from the pain and this is a dream. Two medics push Connor away. One applies pressure to her stomach laceration. The other one notices that her left leg is bent while her right leg is straight.

"Something wrong with your leg?"

"My, my kneecap." The medic touches it ever so slightly with his right index finger, and Dawn screams bloody murder. "Is broken!," she angrily adds in a long, guttural tone after shrieking at the top of her lungs for five seconds.

"She gonna be alright?," Connor nervously asks. It's awful to see his love in so much pain and be unable to help her.

"If you let us do our job," the medic trying to stop the bleeding from the stomach wound says. Connor steps back and watches a little while longer. One man immobilizes her right leg and puts a brace around the knee, then talks to his colleague, who gets on his radio to the infirmary about where to send the patient. Soon, Connor's had enough of watching Dawn suffer, and like his father, has to turn away. He looks at the five girls, who stand there, bloody and shaken, their eyes vacant, as if they just lost something. Connor doesn't know that it's their innocence, since he lost that too early in life to even know he had it. He looks back at Dawn's face, contorted in agony, and turns away with tears in his eyes. He looks down at the ground and puts his right hand up to cover them so no one will see. Connor smells Angel to his right. He puts his left arm around his son's shoulders. The boy scowls in disapproval.

"It wasn't our time to be heroes." Connor notices that Angel sounds a little choked up. He glances to his right, and sees that his dad, too, is crying. This makes him feel even more embarrassed. He wiggles free from his father's grasp.

"I let them hurt her," Connor responds. Angel decides his son might not be ready for displays of paternal bonding and father-son empathy. In their family, a loving son is one who doesn't actively desire to kill his father. Meanwhile, Gunn and Fred slowly creep towards the carnage.

"Pulse feels weak," one of the two medics working on Anya states.

"Getting weaker," the other one nervously adds. Their boss walks over and lowers his head towards Anya.

"Hear that gurgle?," he asks them. "Pinhole prick in the diaphragm. Move out." They slowly and carefully lift her up and start carrying her. "Go!," he shouts, causing them to quicken their pace. Gunn moves one way and Fred the other as they rush right in between them.

"Anya," Gunn says.

"Did you see all that blood?," Fred asks, putting her hand to her mouth.

"We only have two choppers?," the outraged officer barks from outside. "Then take one of theirs!," he orders, commandeering one of the Apache fighters. His broken right arm in a sling, Xander ditches his medic and runs after Anya, but they don't allow him in the helicopter. Inside, Connor stares down at Faith, something Wes, Angel and the new Slayers have already done enough of. The girls wander aimlessly towards the center of the room, where they had ripped the Titan apart.

"We didn't kill her," Amanda notes depressingly.

"She ain't comin' back," Rona responds. "Even if she puts herself back together again."

"What now?," Ariella asks, provoking silence.

"Ask him," Madari proposes, looking back at Wesley. They walk up to him.

"Now what?," Fadila inquires. And it occurs to Wesley that he's acquired a whole slew of new, unforeseen responsibilities. Angel looks through the open door out into the sunlight, and sees Kate. It's been two years. She's talking with Mayor Santos, whom Angel recognizes from television.

"What happened to Rupert?," Kate asks.

"I don't know. I don't know. They took him away. I don't even know if he's - "

Kate hugs Stella to comfort her. "He'll make it," Kate assures her, not quite believing her own words. "You know Rupert. He's tough. Probably survived worse." From forty feet away, Angel can hear every word. Kate looks devastated. How did she know Giles?

Two medics each continue working on Buffy and Dawn, while two others with nothing to do catch sight of Amanda and Fadila, both of whom are bleeding far too profusely to be standing up. They put up no resistance when told to lie down so the docs can get a look at their injuries. Amanda has a suspicious neck wound and a slashed right hamstring that's soaked her jeans in blood. Fadila has a deep stab wound in her right lung. The head of the operation re-enters the Terrordome, handing gauze pads to Ariella and Madari to deal with their cut foreheads. Rona, whose the only one to emerge relatively unscathed, feels somewhat ashamed of that fact. It makes her feel as if she wasn't as brave or didn't fight as hard, which wasn't the case. The leader then looks over Buffy and Dawn.

"Cuts are shallow. No sign of sepsis," he hears while simultaneously talking on the phone. A few seconds later, he hangs up.

"She goes to Santa Barbara," he orders regarding Buffy. "She goes to Los Angeles," he continues, pointing at Dawn.

"What?"

"She needs a specialist to patch up that knee. They're all going to civilian hospitals eventually. Might as well start with those already in the clear."

"What about them?," the guy working on Fadila asks.

"Santa Barbara. Both." He then points at Madari. "And have someone get this one to the infirmary. I think she needs stitches." Buffy and Dawn are carried out on stretchers. Angel wants to follow Buffy, but can't. Connor wants to follow Dawn, and can. But only so far. The head medic called in two more choppers from the base four miles away, and they're just arriving. Kate sees Buffy, and Buffy sees Kate. She rushes over to Buffy, her hair blown up in the air by the helicopters landing behind her.

"Hang in there, Buffy. They'll have you and all your friends sown up in no time."

"I failed. I failed them."

"Nonsense. You won. You're a hero."

"No. I was," Buffy plaintively responds before being lifted into the helicopter. To Kate's right, she sees Connor trying to get in the chopper carrying Dawn. She's never seem the young man before, but the fiery look in his eyes when a soldier tries to tell him he can't go along scares Kate. She doesn't want the kid to get his ass kicked. Okay, so she still has something of a knack for misreading situations. Kate rushes over and pushes Connor back.

"You can't go." After backing up fifteen feet, he angrily swats Kate's hands off of him. Angel's been watching all along. Seeing Kate try to console Buffy was eerie. But this is strangely familiar. He just hopes Connor wouldn't knock her out.

"I have to," Connor retorts.

"She needs the doctors. Not you," Kate yells over the din of the whirling helicopter blade. No she's done it. Nobody tells Connor that Dawn doesn't need him. Even if that person is technically right.

"You can't keep me away from her. No one can." Buffy had already tried and failed. Who did this non-Slayer woman think she was? Meanwhile, Kate's wondering who the hell this boy thinks he is.

"Let's put things in prospective, Romeo. Those doctors are trying to save her life. You want to get in their way?"

"I won't." He tries to surge forward, but Kate holds him back.

"Family only." She knows he's not that.

"I'm her husband," he pleads. Angel's jaw drops when he hears this. Connor definitely has a scolding coming.

"Nice try, kid." Kate scoffs. She knows Buffy's little sister isn't married. The helicopter door closes and it lifts off the ground, throwing Connor's hair back. He takes a few seconds to control his anger and wait for the noise to pass, watching his love fly away.

"Where are they taking her?" Kate walks past Connor. He grabs her right arm and spins her around. Boy's got quite a grip. "I said, where are they taking her?"

"I was going to talk to someone and find out," she replies condescendingly. "Take your hand off me, and I maybe I can get you an answer." Connor lets go and glares at her. Kate turns back around, shudders and walks towards the man in charge. She glances back at Connor for a moment. He's still staring daggers at her. Something about that intense, angry young man unsettles her. Angel ducks his head out of the doorway so she can't see him. Wes, Gunn and Fred walk over to Angel.

"I always thought you were exaggeratin' 'bout the Hellmouth," Gunn confesses. "Damn. Turns out it's even worse that you said."

"You're right about that," Angel dejectedly replies.

"Guess we came on a really bad day," Fred offers. "Never thought I'd say that about a day when the world was saved."

"The greater the victory, the greater the price," Wesley intones. He's brooding almost as much as Angel.

"It didn't have to be like this," Angel answers, rebutting Wesley's comforting fatalism.

"Buffy was right," Wes counters. "It wasn't our battle to win," he adds, looking at Rona and the other new Slayers.

"Too bad some the of the victors couldn't live to see it," Gunn comments, referring to Faith.

"Poor Lindsey," Fred notes.

"Oh my God," Angel replies.

"Someone has to tell him," Wesley declares.

"I think I got his number in my Palm," Fred reports. Angel takes out his phone.

"You!," Wes exclaims. "Angel, with all due respect, I believe you're the last person he'd want to hear this news from."

"Show of hands: who here knows what it's like to lose the love of your life?"

"That was completely different," Wes responds.

"She came back," Gunn explains.

"And after Darla, he'd begin to associate you with taking his women away," Wesley adds.

Angel hears a zipper forty feet to his left. A soldier closes Andrew's body bag. Kennedy's has already been shut. Faith's is being carried out by two soldiers who dutifully perform their job without asking questions. They notice that the injured have been whisked away with astonishing speed. Other than the handful of soldiers, they are alone. To Angel, this is apt. It symbolizes that he came too late. Connor rushes in.

"Dawn's going to LA. They wouldn't let me go with her. Well, SHE wouldn't." Apparently, angry personal misunderstandings with Kate was an inherited trait.

"Which hospital?," Fred asks.

Connor thinks about this, then looks distressed. "I don't know. I didn't ask. How many are there?" He runs back outside. Meanwhile, Graham walks over, holding some clothes.

"Hi Fred."

"Oh, hey Graham," she nervously responds, combining the awkwardness of the morning after with the awkwardness of having witnessed the aftermath of a massacre.

"I found these in the wreckage, near the, umm, cones, or conic sections, one of which may have been used as a weapon, though it can't be matched with any of the wounds. Anyway, the clothes don't correspond to any of the bodies."

"They're Spike's," Anger responds, recognizing the smell and the apparel. "He must have been staked or burnt in the sun."

"Then why did his clothes survive?," Fred asks.

"These belong to Hostile 17?," Graham asks. He looks down at the jacket. "That's where I've this before."

"Can I see those?," Wesley asks.

"Sure. I don't have any use for them."

"Thanks," Fred offers. Graham flashes a tentative half-smile, then walks away. He looks up at the partially-destroyed dome, then down at the blood on the floor.

"Mouth of Hell indeed." He walks out to brief his superiors. Angel, Wes, Fred and Gunn are now completely alone in the cavernous, rubble-strewn, blood-stained arena.

"What do we do now?," Gunn asks.

"What does Buffy do?," Angel adds.

As someone who had worked closely with Lindsey on multiple occasions, and as someone who had reported the deaths of soldiers to their friends and loved ones on more than one occasion, Graham thought it was his responsibility to tell Lindsey. He is standing in the hallway outside a Tupelo, Mississippi courtroom when his phone rings. "Hello?" He face quickly turns ashen. "I understand. She told me there was a good chance she wasn't going to make it out of Sunnydale. Just last night, actually. Thank you, Graham, for calling. I know it's a tough thing to do." He drops the phone to the ground and stands there, frozen. A young man pops his head out the door.

"Mister MacDonald? Mister MacDonald, it's time for your closing."

"Of course. I'll be right in, Gene."

"Is that your phone?" Eugene picks up the phone and slides the battery back in.

"Put in my briefcase. I'll be right in. Just . . . preparing." The young man does as he is told. Lindsey takes a little while longer to collect himself. Before entering the courtroom.

"If only I'd sent them in five minutes earlier," Stella says to the surgeon just outside the temporary military hospital to the west of Sunnydale.

"It wouldn't have mattered," he responds. the outer lining of his right ventricle had been pierced clear through.

"You could have fixed that. If he had gotten here early enough."

"Unless he was stabbed on the operating table itself, it would have been too late. I'm sorry for your loss, Mayor. But there was nothing you could have done." Angel is under a tent about a hundred yards away, leaning against a table and looking at the grass. Connor's leaning back and looking down three feet to Angel's right.

"We should have stayed," Connor states. "Slept on the ground. Or under that dome. Then we would have been there. Once the fighting started, even Buffy would welcome the help."

"It wasn't our fight," Angel maintains, not in spite of the fact that he doesn't believe these words, but because he doesn't believe these words.

"I was wrong," Wesley declares. He stands in front of Angel and to his left. Gunn stands in front of Wesley and directly to Angel's left, at the end of the table.

"About how they won?," Gunn asks.

"No. About who would be responsible for the victory. It was a foolish mistake. To defeat so great a foe requires more than a mere reinforcements. It demands a paradigm shift, the creation of something which was absent at the start of the conflict. Something that would make the battle obsolete. Anyone attempting to kill Potential Slayers from now on will be in for a rude awakening."

"They told you how it happened?," Connor asks Wes.

"Fadila and Amanda are receiving medical care. Madari, Ella and Rona are being checked for shock. No, I haven't ask them. I didn't have to. And, at least for today, I don't want to."

"I'm a little in the dark on everything," Gunn comments.

"We all are," Angel concurs.

"Are they Slayers?," Connor asks.

"They have to be," Wes answers.

"How?," Gunn wonders.

"Willow," Wes guesses.

"It would have to be," Angel concludes.

"And how did Spike die but leave his clothes?," Gunn asks.

"That part doesn't make any sense," Angel concedes. Connor glances at the clothes.

"He left his socks, but not his underwear." Angel, Gunn and Wes look at each other. None of them want to be having a discussion about Spike's undergarments. "Maybe he wasn't wearing any," Connor theorizes, causing Angel and Wesley to cringe.

"Spike died commando?," Gunn jokes. Amidst all the tragedy, one had to find something humorous to keep from getting overwhelmed. Fred walks into the tent. Angel and Connor stand straight up.

"I talked to Graham, who's talked to all the medical people. Rupert Giles is dead."

"What?," Angel exclaims. "He was alive when they brought him here."

"No. He died on the way. Stabbed in the heart. Nothing they could do." Angel and Wes take the news hard. "Willow is, umm, in a coma. They don't know if she'll ever wake up." A tear comes out of the outside of Fred's right eye, and she wipes it off her cheek and regains her composure. "Anya is in stable but guarded condition. Here's the rest of the information," she hands Angel a sheet of paper saying which hospital in which town each person is in. "Willow's getting sent down to our town, cause they got the best facilities for something like this. Anya's goin' to Santa Barbara, where Buffy and the others are." Angel reads the list. Connor looks over his right shoulder.

"How are the girls?," Wes asks.

"You mean the ones still here? They're fine. Just gettin' some juice, maybe something to eat. I can take you to them."

"I hope there's enough room in the car," Wes declares. It takes a few seconds for everyone to realize the implication.

"Shouldn't they stay with Buffy?," Angel asks.

"Rupert said that if anything happened to him, I was entrusted with their care." News of this responsibility causes a few more seconds of silence.

"We got the rooms," Gunn notes.

"Did Rupert want them to work for us?," Angel asks with some skepticism.

"Technically, they work for the Council, which is responsible for paying them."

"Paying them?," Angel gasps. "When did Slayers start getting paid?"

"Since at least a half-hour ago, when I talked to Claude Marcel."

"The guy who brought us all those books?," Fred asks.

"Rupert had made him acting leader of the Council. Now he's the, official leader," Wesley pauses due to the fact that Rupert's death caused this change. "He's adopted a policy of laissez-faire. The Slayers will be in charge. The Watcher's role is advisory."

"So, in a sense, nothing's changed," Angel quips.

"They can go home. They can quit. They can work in Los Angeles. They can go to Paris and work with Claude. It's entirely up to them."

"So are you still working for me?," Angel asks. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound crass."

"You're right. I have been given dual responsibilities. Which, for the time being, shouldn't conflict. The Slayers can assist us in our work, or simply patrol, or decide they don't like Los Angeles, in which case they are no longer my charges. Instead of a Watcher being permanently attached to a particular Slayer, we are now assigned regions and expected assist any Slayer who comes to that region."

"Are they paying you?," Gunn inquires.

"Actually, no. Because I work full-time for Angel Investigations and therefore only part-time for the Council. Claude said it's cost-cutting measures like this which enable him to pay Slayers."

"Do they get extra for savin' the world?," Fred asks.

Lindsey walks out of the courtroom, stone-faced. He pays no attention to the reporters, or the cameras, or even his other two co-counsels and his clients. They escape the crowd by entering a small conference room. "That was incredible!," Eugene exults as they walk through the door.

"Just doing my job."

"And the way your eyes teared-up at just the right moment," Tamara, his other co-counsel, adds. "Did you ever do acting?"

"It was nothing," Lindsey says as he sits down and continues to not make eye contact with anyone. He just stares blankly at the wall.

"It was good," one of his clients softly offers. The other defendant nods.

"Let's hope it was enough. Otherwise, every word was worthless." His phone rings.

"Lindsey," Fred says. "I'm sorry, but - "

"I know."

"You do? You, umm, know about Faith?"

"I know." He hangs up.

At half past noon, Clayton Jenkins walks into David Lister's office holding a piece of paper. "Have you heard?," Clay asks with a smile. David leans back in his chair and clicks open an email on his computer screen.

"Old news. Just because you're on the West Coast doesn't mean you can be three hours behind," David scornfully jokes. Clayton slams the piece of paper down onto David's desk, puts his hands on the near side of the desk, leans his head down towards David's and smirks. David calmly looks over the page. "It's a voided contract," David shrugs.

"Not just any contract."

"Standard and perpetuity . . . " David notes as he reads the fine print. Then he looks surprised. Clayton laughs.

"I take it they haven't sent you the memo yet," Clay crows.

"This is new. But why is it News?"

"Lindsey MacDonald's a free agent! The other side picked up his option. When was the last time that happened?"

"Don't know, don't care," David says as he hands the contract back to Clay. "He's a non-entity. A has-been. Why are you so obsessed with him?"

"He has . . . ambiguity. That's a rare quality in our world."

"He can go both ways. Whoop-dee-doo."

"Do you know what the other side values? The currency the Forces of Good' prize above all else?"

"Virtue?"

"Suffering! That's why they picked him. Sometime in the past few hours he showed a willingness to suffer. But the pain's just starting. Now that he's actually a member of the club, the pain's just gonna start raining down, like a cloud following him wherever he goes. The only way to get to Heaven is to live through Hell on Earth."

"Doesn't make him a player. He's still powerless. Which means I shouldn't waste my time talking about him." David ponders the news. "Is this connected to Sunnydale?"

"You didn't know he was plowing Faith?"

"Into Slayers. Freak," David says with hypocritical sarcasm, given his own predilection for Vengeance Demons.

"Great stuff this morning. I'm sure you were delighted when it came over the wire."

"Delighted? Please. The wrong Slayer died. The wrong vampire died. Spike could have been useful."

"To pester Angel? Possibly. But he would never work for us. We can't give him what he wants. As for Faith, she was a little too simple for my tastes. Buffy, she has nuance," Clay says with a smile.

"And, if you ever try to tell her how big a fan you are, she could kill you with her bare hands."

"You say that like it's a turn-on."

"Isn't it?"

"A grizzly bear can also kill me with its bare hands. I'm not attracted to them."

"I take it that means you don't want to request any dates with the new girls," David jokes. He knows Clay's almost sickeningly devoted to his girlfriend Mona.

"You're already on that? How many?"

"None. Other than the five who were there. Those Reapers were very thorough. But new ones should start trickling out any day now."

"How are you finding them?"

"A few undisclosed ladies at an undisclosed location. Far away from Los Angeles."

"Which happily makes it none of my business." Clayton walks towards the door. David stands up.

"What do you mean by that?" Creating an army of Rogue Slayers was a dream assignment. Clayton should be jealous of him.

Clay turns around to look at David. "What I meant was, I'm glad Buffy's not going to be coming after me. Good day." He leaves and closes the door. David sits down and grins.

"But plenty of other people will be."


	2. Escape to LA

Angel tries to comfort Buffy. The Slayers arrive in Los Angeles. Groo gets seduced by a Spike worshipper. And the vampires in Los Angeles react to the Slayer explosion.

Angel sits on a hallway bench in Saint Francis Medical Center in Santa Barbara. He's staring at an arrow head that he holds in his right hand. Wesley sits to Angel's right. Fred and Gunn sit to Angel's left. "It is my fault," Angel declares.

"Not this again," Gunn worries.

"It's Mal's. Nina broke Buffy's leg with Mal's arrow."

"How can you be so certain?," Wesley asks.

"The three flared edges to tear through flesh. The head connected to the shaft with a socket and a bolt so it won't break off on impact. He shot me with one exactly like this."

"You made a difference," Fred insists.

"Not today."

"Wanna bet? You saved Willow and Anya."

"He did?," Gunn asks.

"How?," Wesley wonders, as mystified as the rest of the men.

"When you decided to come here, you called me, which tipped off Graham. He told the army Buffy was going in earlier than expected, and they rushed to get everyone in place to support her. If you stayed put, those doctors would've been up in the hills when everyone was dying. They wouldn't have made it in time. Maybe it wasn't how you planned, but you did make a difference." Angel, Wes and Gunn take a few seconds to work through the chain of causation.

"But only cause Graham was at Fred's," Gunn points out. Wesley realizes the implication, looks pained, but decides to masochistically point out the obvious.

"Charles is correct. If Graham had not spent the night, Willow and Anya would not have been rescued in time." What a horrible, horrible notion — Fred sleeping with other men can save lives. His chest felt like it was slowly imploding. No one knows how to respond to this. Gunn is also bothered by this conclusion, though less so than anguished, unrequited Wesley.

"Unintended consequences cut both ways," Angel offers. "No surprise there." For instance, if Angel never slept with Darla, Buffy would not have a broken leg, because Mal came to southern California solely because Connor existed. Thankfully, this does not occur to Angel. Though Darla would no doubt have loved it. Connor pops up seemingly out of nowhere.

"The Potentials are okay," he reports, calling them that out of habit. "The ones who aren't hurt. They're watching tv. I can get 'em if you want."

"Not until we have word on Amanda and Fadila," Wes replies. "I trust they wouldn't have much stomach for our self-pity." He doesn't want to drag the girls down into their "What More Could We Have Done?" downward spiral.

"So we go when they're better?," Connor asks. "Slayers heal fast, right?" He doesn't mean to sound insensitive, but Connor can't hide his eagerness to see Dawn.

"Yes, they're coming with us," Angel answers. "But only when they're ready." Connor's restless fidgeting highlights his impatience.

"Why don't you head back to the girls?," Wesley suggests. "I'm sure they'd appreciate your company."

"I know a girl who would appreciate it more."

"That does it," Angel responds angrily. "A lot of people got hurt today. And more than a few died. So I would appreciate it if you showed a little more compassion for the feelings of others."

"I'm sorry," Connor mutters nonchalantly, looking down at the ground.

"No you're not."

"Whatever you say," he responds with a scowl.

"Angel, now isn't the time for this," Fred gently suggests.

"Dawn is getting the best possible medical care," Angel continues. "Whether she sees you an hour from now or ten hours from now won't make her get better any faster."

"I'll just, go back," Connor mumbles before disappearing.

Angel hears a familiar voice in the distance and stands up. "Buffy." He runs down the hall.

"What about sympathy for others?," Connor asks Wes, Fred and Gunn, miffed by Angel's apparent hypocrisy. Buffy's at the front desk, trying to sign out. A doctor stands behind her, telling the nurse behind the desk not to let the patient out. Buffy turns around. She's using crutches and has a cast on her left leg.

"Thank you very much, you did a great job, but I'm ready to go."

"You suffered a life-threatening injury. I had to remove your spleen," the doctor explains.

"And you did such a good job, I'm checking out early."

"You shouldn't be out of your wheelchair. You could tear the stitches. And there's still a risk of infection."

"Is there a problem?," Angel asks.

"Do you know this woman?," the doctor enquires.

"Quite well."

"Then she's your problem. God help you." The doctor shakes his head and talks to the nurse. "If you get a fever, please go to a hospital," he tells Buffy before signing her discharge form and walking away. Meanwhile, Connor's gone back to check on the Slayers, discovering to his surprise that Madari, Ariella and Rona have been joined by Amanda and Fadila. Once he mentions having seen Buffy in the hallway, they rush to join her. However, given that Amanda has a torn right hamstring, her rushing takes the form of anxious limping. Fadila, with her punctured left lung, is also a bit slow off the mark. Wes, Fred and Gunn also join the group.

"First thing when we get back, we need to get all you Slayers out of those clothes," Angel says, causing gasps. "And into something less blood-soaked," he clarifies. For the first time, Connor realizes that Buffy's going to be living with his dad, which — quite hypocritically — sickens him.

Angel looks at the large bandage on the right side of Amanda's neck, and the large bandage on the left side of Buffy's neck. "Did one of those uber-vamps do that to you?," Angel asks Amanda.

"Yeah. But it, it didn't take much before Faith killed it." The mention of Faith causes the Slayers to lower their heads in a spontaneous moment of reverential silence. Angel looks at Buffy, who's still quite pale.

"Ah guess it took a little more from you," Fred says to Buffy. She looks very nervous, and the other Slayers appear uncomfortable as well. Angel notices Buffy's avoiding eye contact.

"Spike bit me." For the next five seconds, everyone's too stunned to say a word."

"What?," Angel asks.

"He went evil in the end?," Wes assumes.

"It was the only way to override the, the, thing, and keep the Slayer line from getting cut," Buffy tries to explain. Angel doesn't quite see how that would work. Fred and Gunn are also stumped. Wesley, who read the prophecy book, mulls this shocking development over.

"Of course! You have no line, no inheritor. Nothing for the Pearl to absorb. Did Rupert come up with that?"

"No. Spike just thought it up on the spot." Wesley's surprised Spike could come up with something so clever. Angel wonders if there were ulterior motives. Maybe Spike was just acting on instinct and got lucky.

"So what killed him?," Fred asks.

"The Merv Stone," Wesley infers. "Which would explain why his clothes survived. The Stone's mystical energy can only be conducted through flesh."

"What are you talking about?," Buffy asks. She saw a bright flash of light, and Spike was gone. The whole clothes thing is new to her.

"Can we go now?," Rona asks.

"Certainly," Wes answers. "I'll take you to the car. Hopefully there will be enough room, or else one of you will have to ride on the roof." Amanda laughs. As does Fadila, who grabs her left side in pain.

"What about Connor?," Rona proposes. "I think he could hang on."

"I stand out back on the bumper," Connor replies. "Ella can take the top." Madari and Rona laugh. Ella whispers something to Fadila as they walk towards the exit. "I wasn't being anti-semitic!," Connor exclaims. "I don't even know what that is." Ariella pinches Connor's right cheek to show she's just messing with him.

"They seem to be getting along real well," Fred notes.

"Boy's finally got friends he can go out and play with," Gunn explains.

"And by play,' you mean demon killing?"

"They ain't goin' to school. It's either demon-killing, or gang-banging."

"Don't any teenagers jus' hang out at the mall anymore?"

"Not in our world."

The Groosalug stands up in his Royal Tent, walking gingerly because of the wound to his right shin. He wears tanned leather pants, a green shirt, black fur cape and an iron crown. Panthesilea, wearing a short gold and black dress (despite the near-freezing temperatures), silver belt, purple cape and gold crown, walks towards the tent's entrance, which is guarded by two burly soldiers with spears. They cross their spears to block the entrance. "The King is expecting no visitors."

"Then this is his lucky night." In the blink of and eye, Penny grabs one spear with each hand and sends the shafts into each guard's nose, bloodying them before they can even react. She walks in, knowing the guards will be too embarrassed to ask Groo if he wants the intruder removed. Groo catches sight of the tall, powerfully-built, striking woman, and can't help but stare. Panthesilea removes her cape and tosses it onto Groo's head. Penny gets behind him, puts her arms around his waist and removes his sword and belt before lifting the veil. "I always get nervous when an armed man stares at me like that."

Groo had never heard that particular pick-up line before. "I would never hurt you," he pledges.

"It's not me I'm worried about." Was she threatening his life?, Groo wonders. Maybe this isn't a seduction after all. (Groo's quite sexually naive, at least by the standards of the people he's met outside of Pylea.)

"You commanded the invaders."

"Still do. Though I suppose we're no longer invaders, now that the locals have become our allies. Thanks to you."

"I did my job. That is all."

"Strong, yet humble. You know how rare that is?"

"Very. In every world but my own."

"Scyra is your world now."

"So long as its people desire my services."

"I don't see that being a problem," she says with a flirtatious grin.

"Does this meeting concern affairs of state?," Groo asks nervously.

"Yes. I suppose it does." He breathes a sigh of relief. Then Panthesilia puts her foot up on a stool. "This bracelet is always falling down. Can you be a gentleman and help me?" Groo stares at her leg. "In my world, refusing this request is seen as a sign of distrust." Politics sure didn't work like this in Pylea. Groo walks over and uses his right hand to slowly push the bracelet up to just below her knee, where it rests atop her very firm calf muscle. She puts her foot back on the ground. "Was that so hard?"

"Well. I, I suppose . . . " He's been rendered speechless right on schedule. Penny puts her hands on his chest.

"The people here trust you. It is important that they view me as a friend, and no longer think of me as an enemy." Groo looks at her gold necklace with a ruby gem, her gold earrings, the gold snake around her right upper arm. Oh, and her golden crown with several inset gems.

"You are more than a mere general. You are a princess." She takes this as an insult, and gives Groo a ferocious look with her brown eyes that makes him tremble.

"Do I look like a mere princess?"

"You are a queen," he realizes.

"Which makes you my equal." She breaks the chain holding Groo's cape up. Then she puts her arms around his shoulders and runs her fingers through his hair, leaning in so her lips are six inches from his.

"Are, are you MY queen?"

"Until the sun comes up," she replies, raising her eyebrows. Groo is used to taking a long arduous journey to risk his life fighting a mighty foe. He's not used to being rewarded so quickly and so immensely. Penny leans in and kisses him. Groo wraps his arms around her waist. But after a little while, he begins to feel guilty.

"What is your name?"

"Panthesilea. And you're the Groosalug. Now that we got that out of the way - " she kisses neck his for a bit before putting her tongue in his right ear. Her patented corkscrew makes him weak in the knees. He has to say something now, while he still has an ounce of resistance left. Groo doesn't want to take advantage of the woman, even if she's taking advantage of him.

"You would not be my first." Panthesilea lets go of Groo, backs up and chuckles.

"You're funny."

"I am serious."

"That's WHY you're funny!," she explains, running her right hand down his left cheek. "Did you grow up on a deserted island?" That's the only way she can explain his naivete. No adult in her world is that innocent. And the people from Buffy's world were even less innocent than the people in Scyra. "You weren't married?"

"No."

"Then you're a virgin. Like me." Groo's very perplexed. He doesn't know that the Scyreans (like the ancient Sumerians) sometimes define a virgin as someone who has never married, even if they are sexually experienced.

"There was a princess. We kam-shakt. I loved her very much. I still do." Penny's eyes light up. To her, kam-shak sounds exotic and adventurous. Maybe he wasn't as innocent as he let on.

"You've had one princess. Big deal. I've had dozens." Groo doesn't know what to make of that last remark. It would no doubt give pause to even a far more jaded man. Then she leans in and licks the back of his right earlobe before sticking her tongue in his left ear. This woman was good. Good enough to make him forget what she just said. She kisses him some more on the lips while ripping off his shirt. "A lot for me to work with," she notes with a smile, putting her hands on his pecs and pushing Groo down on his back. As he gazes up, she removes her belt and pulls her dress off both shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Groo's eyes actually appear to get bigger than normal. Penny gets down on her knees and straddles him. Groo grabs her thighs and starts to tremble.

"Queen Panthesilea, you are very beautiful. Your long flowing hair, your graceful chin, your lean, muscular, yet still most ladylike, body." There didn't seem to be an ounce of fat on her. "But I still love Cordelia."

"And I still love Spike. Which shouldn't be a problem, unless they show up. And what are the chances of that?," she responds before laughing. Groo doesn't laugh back.

"You . . . love . . . Spike?"

"I'm a woman. How could I not?" To Groo, that was hardly a rhetorical question. He mulls this Spike thing over as she kisses his chest and works her way down to his stomach. It seems that every woman who wants to sleep with him is in love with a vampire.

"You . . . made sex with the vampire?" Panthesilea flutters her tongue across his belly button, and he sighs tremulously. His breath quickens. This woman's finding erogenous zones Groo didn't even know he had.

"Make it with Spike? I wish!," she answers before pressing her body down against his and kissing his neck and face.

"And, I would imagine, so must he." Penny smiles, touches the tip of her tongue to the tip of his nose, then kisses Groo on the lips as she pulls her left leg up, wrapping her toes around the waistband of his trousers and pushing she down to his ankles. Groo decides to quit asking the sexy naked woman questions.

"It's two o'clock," Kit says to Elijah as they sit in the lobby. "We should have heard something by now."

"The world's still here. That's a good sign. If they lost, we'd have noticed the apocalyptic ripples by now. Wouldn't we?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"I've never experienced the ending of the world. I don't know what to expect."

"Should I ask the lounge demon? Maybe he's heard something."

"He's afraid of me."

"Why's that, Kit?"

"Mind-readers are very nervous about having their own minds read."

"I thought you can only read auras?"

"Which means I can detect moods. I can't know what he's thinking. But I can figure out what he's feeling. And, at the moment it's not unbearable grief."

"So, that means he won't need any cheering up?," Elijah asks, not getting the the point. Kit slaps his left shoulder with the back of her right hand.

"It means his friends haven't died. And that Connor hasn't. Otherwise, every time he passed through here, I'd sense his guilt about not telling us."

"Maybe he hasn't heard anything. He could be in the dark like us." Kit shakes her head.

"I made a point of passing by his room before I went to school this morning." Lorne has a pied-e-terre in addition to his own place a few miles away. "Massive worry. When I came back after school, I stood outside the office because I knew he was inside. The worry was gone."

"Remind me to bring you along if I'm ever looking to buy a used car." They laugh. He puts his left hand on her right knee.

"Silly Eli," Kit responds, rubbing Elijah's floppy blonde hair with her right hand. "I can't use my gifts for selfish gain."

"The gain would be mine. So it wouldn't be selfish." She scowls. "You'd just be making sure I wasn't getting ripped off. How is that unethical?"

"Because once you take that first step, it's hard to stop."

"If you're a perpetual motion machine," Elijah quips. "Of course, then, in addition to abusing magic, you'd be violating the second law of thermodynamics. Which, to science nerds like me, would be a far bigger deal."

"Give a machine enough fuel, and it runs until it breaks."

"Pretty much. By the way, I like how you're using my engineering metaphor. Kind of a turn-on, to be honest."

"A witch is like that machine. Still turned-on?"

"Sorry, Kit. I know this is serious stuff."

"Once a powerful witch takes that first step, it's hard to stop before she walks off a cliff. If a little trick helps someone, and I have fun doing it, pretty soon I'm trying bigger ones."

"Ah yes. The proverbial slippery slope," Eli responds skeptically. "According to which, artificial intelligence and genetic engineering lead to enslavement by evil corporations and their armies of robots and mutants."

"There are real, and non-paranoid, examples. Like, for instance, right now you have your hand on my leg." He takes it off. "No. As you were." He smiles and puts it back on. "I respond to your little gesture with one of my own." She kisses him on the left cheek. "You respond by kissing me on the lips." He leans in to do just that, but she holds him back. "I'm being hypothetical. Hypothetically, I kiss you back, and before long we're making out in front of everyone, you have your hand up my shirt, and my dad walks by."

"At which point he puts a spell on me so that the next time I try to touch you, my hands fall off."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Would he?" Kit laughs. "So, what you're saying, among other things, is that I'm irresistible."

"In your dreams."

"You can't read those, can you?"

"No. Thankfully." Elijah's phone rings. He takes it out of his right pocket.

"It's Connor's number." Eli stands up and answers. "Connor? She's in the hospital! Where? Okay. Okay, I'll meet you there." He hangs up. "Dawn's in the hospital."

"Where?"

"The L.A. Orthopaedic Hospital." He flips through a telephone book that was under the front desk.

"What happened to her?"

"Connor doesn't know."

"Obviously something foot or leg-related."

"It's on South Flower Street." He flips to the front of the book where the maps are. "Just outside the loop. Right off 110. I can find my way."

"Or, better yet, I could find it for you while you drive," Kit suggests as she walks with Elijah towards the front door.

"You'd be telling me what to do. I quite comfortable with that."

"I've noticed," Kit replies with a small half-smirk. Connor's news gave her a great sense of relief. Yes, Dawn was hurt. And probably very badly. But she was alive.

The Slayers have just passed Oxnard and are about thirty miles from the Hyperion. Gunn drives, with Buffy riding shotgun, her leg propped up on the dashboard. Fadila's behind Gunn, and Amanda's behind Buffy. Behind them sit Rona, Ariella and Madari. On the floor, in back, are Angel, Wes, Fred and Connor, steerage in their own vehicle.

"We should have brought another car," Wes states.

"We don't have one," Angel reminds him.

"What happened to the convertible?," Buffy asks from up front.

"It's in the shop. Mal bodyslammed it."

"He did the same to mine," Gunn reports.

"He blew mine up," Wesley adds. Actually, it was his detective agency's car. But Mal also took care of the agency by killing all of Wesley's employees. That business, founded less than a year ago, seemed like part of a distant past life now. So much had changed in twelve months.

When the girls arrive at the Hyperion, they become wide-eyed and awestruck.

"This is all yours?," Amanda asks.

"Angel rents. He has a lease," Wes explains as they enter the front courtyard.

"Why would he need all this space?," Madari wonders.

"Buffy saved the world from a little tiny house," Rona points out.

"The hotel was haunted by a demon that turned guests homicidal."

"That couldn't have been good for business," Fadila jokes.

"The building had been vacant for nearly twenty years before Angel killed the demon and established residence."

"So the dead guy gets the building because he's the only one who could make it liveable," Ariella concludes.

"That's a good way to put it," Fred compliments. They enter the lobby. The girls are blown away.

"It's like a palace!," Madari exclaims. The Slayers stream down the stairs into the center of the atrium.

"Do we each get our own rooms?," Rona asks.

"No," Lorne says as he walks out from behind the desk. The girls stop and look worried by the strange creature. "As our V.I.P. guests, you can each have two rooms! We'll just knock down a wall and turn it into your very own luxury suite. You lovely ladies must be the Slayers. Kudos on saving the world. I'd hug you but I sense that you find me repulsive. Don't worry. I'm not as scary as I look."

"You don't look scary at all," Amanda tells Lorne, to his chagrin.

"Maybe a little creepy," Rona clarifies.

"Lorne's a good guy," Gunn tells the girls.

"Are you a singer?," Ariella asks.

"Wait a sec. You were at the Bronze!," Fadila recalls.

"When?," Madari asks.

"He opened for Lindsey," Ariella points out. The girls all smile and sigh.

"I remember Lindsey," Madari responds, eliciting smiles and nods from the other Slayers. "But I don't remember this guy."

"You three were out hunting for boys," Fadila explains. They take umbrage at the predatory implications.

"I was hunting for vampires," Rona insists. "Which did cause me to meet Clarence, and save his life. I hope he's still here."

"So you're a helpful demon," Amanda infers. "Like Clem?"

"Hey! Clem's a nice enough fellow, but I'm far better-looking, and a snazzier dresser. Also, I don't eat cats."

"Demons eat cats?," Fred responds, looking horrified.

"They also eat people," Wes reminds her, trying to point out the ridiculousness of her outrage.

"But people can fight back."

"Cheetahs and tigers can put up one helluva fight," Gunn points out.

"But little kitty cat kittens? That's so sad. And disgusting."

"And let's not forget that it reinforces ugly anti-demon stereotypes," Lorne mentions. "Sorry I led us off-track," he apologizes to the girls. "Let me check out our occupancy and fight your rooms. Which floor would like?"

"Isn't this cool?," Amanda exults. "We get to choose floors. A few days ago, we were sleeping on the floor."

"And a few days ago, you probably couldn't rip me limb-from-limb," Lorne comments. "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't put that one to the test."

"Can you tell us what rooms our boyfriends are in?," Rona requests.

"Long as you tell me their last names. Just so you know, they're all rooming with their parents."

"Good thing we're not," Amanda notes. Rona smiles. So does Madari. The possibility of spending the night alone with a boy had never crossed her mind. A month ago, she had never even kissed a boy. None of this hormonal stuff had occurred to Wesley. Naturally, it makes him uneasy. He walks off with Gunn and Fred.

"At least they're human," Fred says to Wesley with a shrug.

"You don't have to walk with me!," Buffy insists to Angel, who covers his head with his coat to protect against direct sunlight while Buffy uses her crutches to hop from the parking lot to the hotel.

"I'm just here to help."

"I don't need help. You're the one who's risking spontaneous combustion. Already your back's starting to smoke." Angel quickly retreats to the shade of the rear courtyard and its colonnade, while Buffy makes her way with frustrating slowness. It's the first time she's been lame since becoming a Slayer. The inconvenience and sense of helplessness are maddening. When Buffy gets to the fountain, she gazes up at the building.

"Holy crap! This place is nearly as big as my high school. What exactly did you have to do to get it?"

"Nothing illegal. Actually, well, nothing immoral." He did pay for the lease with stolen cash. "No one got hurt. By me. Directly."

"Long story, don't ask. I get it."

"I did kill the demon who possessed the place."

"Sadly, the demons I kill never seem to own real estate."

"You can stay here as long as you, until something better comes — and you'll have your own room, of course."

"There's definitely enough to go round."

"Or, if you want, we can take you to see Dawn first."

"I think we passed the awkward spending-the-night moment a long time ago. Probably the day after we escaped from The Three."

"This particular situation is a little unprecedented."

"I don't have a home. Giles is dead. Spike is dead. There are five new Slayers. And I can't walk! You're damn right this is unprecedented."

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I just want to help you."

"I know. And, it's sweet. But right now I need some serious alone time."

"I would too."

"I'm not talking about months of brooding," Buffy jokes, causing Angel to laugh, which makes her finally smile. "Just a few hours to think through some stuff."

"Take your time."

"Do I have a choice? This cast isn't coming off until at least Saturday." It's Thursday.

"I'd get it x-rayed first. You'd hate to take it off before the bone healed and have it snap again." Something occurs to Angel. "Last week, when I couldn't walk for a couple days after fighting Mal, Wesley brought in a doctor friend of his who's familiar with, our world. He set the bones, put on some air casts, did a real good job. On Connor as well. If anyone knows how best to heal the superpowered, it's him."

"Does he do this sort of thing a lot?"

"I was his first vampire. Connor was his first . . . "

"Connor." Angel smiles.

"And you'd probably be his first Slayer. But he's very open-minded and adaptable. And the closest thing to an expert that I know of."

"Working on you didn't wig him out?"

"Connor was more surprising to him."

"Plus, he was probably a far worse patient. I bet when the doctor asked Does this hurt?', he tried to break both his arms." Buffy thinks over her options. "How bout have Gunn or Wes or whoever drive me to see Dawn. The moving in can wait. Also, I don't have any stuff to move."

"The Mayor said she'd take care of that. The truck should be here by tonight. I'm still not quite used to saying The Mayor' and meaning a good guy. Or gal, as the case may be."

"Poor Stella. She must be taking this pretty hard."

"We all are. Even Connor was crying." They enter the lobby.

"Holy mother of - ," Buffy says as she looks around the spacious lobby. "And no one even lives in this part." After months of very cramped quarters, the Hyperion seems excessive and wasteful.

"Speaking of Connor, where is he? Did he come in with you guys?," Angel asks Gunn and Fred.

"No," Fred realizes, to her surprise. "I though he was with you."

"Haven't seen him since we parked the car," Gunn concurs.

"Oh no," Angel laments.

"He stole your car!?," Buffy assumes. To her, Connor's still a delinquent at best and a homicidal maniac at worst.

"He went to the hospital on foot," Angel infers.

"It's seven miles away," Gunn points out. "And Connor doesn't even know where it is."

"He's trying to track her scent?," Buffy asks with a cringe.

"She came by helicopter," Fred reminds them. So much for tracking. Angel worries about his son wandering around the city. Buffy worries about Connor carjacking someone and making them drive him there. Part of Buffy still sees him as the psycho who tried to kill her.

Victor and Louis enter Clayton's office. They are nervous about stepping in front of the window, through with sunlight pours in. "It's tinted. The UVs won't hurt you," Clay assures them.

"A daytime meeting," Vic notes. "This better be important."

"The Slayers have come to town."

"Slayers?," Lou asks. "I thought there was only one?"

"Actually, there are two," Vic reminds him.

"Actually, there are now six. And all within the city limits."

"You're tripping," Lou declares.

"How do you make six?," Vic wonders.

"The same way you make one: Magic." He hands Lou a thin dossier. "Here are the names, pictures, and the address where they are staying. I should have a more thorough report by tomorrow night." The pictures were taken at the military base that morning. "Three of them are badly injured. All of them have been through a harrowing ordeal. I suspect they'll lay low for the next few days. They may want to wait for their leader to recuperate. But be careful. Three of them could be out slaying this very night. Your enemies have never possessed so much fire power. Forgive me for sounding all Hill Street Blues, but be careful out there."

"Check out the sista," Lou notes with a smile.

"I like the lanky one," Vic confesses.

"You won't get them alone. And remember what happens to vampires who fall for Slayers. Cautionary tales."

"I know this address," Lou announces. "They must be working with Angel and the boy."

"One can hope." Lou doesn't see what Vic's getting at. "I can smell the Capeman from a block away." That's his nickname for Angel, on account of the long coats. "Add six Slayers, and the chances they sneak up on me drop to zero."

"Slayer proliferation presents an obvious challenge. But it also presents a golden opportunity."

"You mean there's more where these came from?," Victor asks.

"The world's becoming a dangerous place," Lou adds.

"And you two are in a perfect position to benefit. These developments put a premium on organization, discipline, and intelligence gathering. Your organization is designed to excel at all three. Play your cards right, and the Slayers eliminate the competition while leaving your vampires untouched."

"Survival of the Fittest," Victor says with a smile.

"Those girls are gonna hand us the world," Louis hopes. "And then we'll take 'em down one-by-one."

"Emphasis on one-by-one," Clayton reminds them.

"More like one hundred-on-eight," Victor says with a smile, referring to the comparative size of forces in Los Angeles.

"For every Slayer they lost, you'd lose five vampires."

"Still leaves sixty for us," Vic notes.

"At least fifty vampires would abandon you before the fight even ended. The men and women who follow you want to live. That's why they joined. If you can't protect your own, you'll be right back where you were before Mal showed up. He changed everything. Don't let the Slayers change it back."


	3. Skin Deep

"No new clients called or came in today," Lorne reports. "Of course, with the cabbage we're pulling in from this hotel racket, we can afford a lull. But there was one message for Wesley. From the police." Buffy looks stunned.

"You really have changed. Don't worry. These sorts of misunderstandings always blow over in a day or two."

"Actually, one of them wants your help," Lorne clarifies. He looks at what he wrote down. "A certain Detective Jacob Colson."

"Jake! Good to know he still has me on his rolodex." Gunn, Angel and Fred are in the dark. "I helped him on a case when I was running my own agency. Is this also missing persons?"

"Multiple homicides. Six, to be exact. At the Glendale Galleria last night. It was in the papers, which, understandably none of you had time to read, what with the world almost ending and all."

"This happened while we were away?," Angel asks.

"About 8:30. You think that wasn't a coincidence?"

"Who could've known about our trip?," Fred asks.

"I know who," Angel replies. "I need to go soften up a source."

"And Buffy needs to go see her sister at the hospital," Fred notes.

"We can drop her off on the way."

"The way to what?," Wes asks.

"Your friend in blue."

Wes thinks this over. He's not eager about sharing his contact. "Well, we are a team." Then he pauses. "What about the Slayers?"

"It might be hard to explain why they're with us," Fred points out.

"I meant, should I tell them where I'm going, and when I'll be back?"

"Somethin' tells me they won't be missing you," Lorne offers.

"I suppose they could use a well-deserved rest." Buffy, Gunn, Fred and Wes leave. Angel had already vanished.

"I'm not sure if it's rest they're looking for," Lorne comments to himself.

Rona finally spots Clarence hanging out with friends in the basement ballroom. He sees her through the open door, smiles and walks out into the hallway. They embrace. "Rona. Stop. You're crushing me," he wheezes. She immediately lets go. He catches his breath and wonders how she got so strong.

"Sorry. I missed you."

"Missed you too."

"Guess that was just my way of saying it. With my arms."

"So, like, well, are you, you know, staying here?," he stammers, not quite able to broach more probing questions such as Where Were You? or Where Are You From? or Where's You Family? And he's only beginning to get an inkling of her super powers. This is the down side of dating non-vampires and non-demon-fighters: so much explaining.

"Looks that way." She hugs him again, but softer. "Am I hurting you now?"

"No," he answers with a smile. "Quite the opposite."

"Can we go somewhere private?"

"Sure. You wanna talk or . . . something?"

"Bit of both."

"My parents will be back soon. Just so you're warned." Rona now realizes she'll have to meet them at some point. Another dicey complication.

"We can go to my room if you want." Rona takes his right hand in her left and leads him to the elevators. It's been a very trying day for her, to put it mildly. She'd like to postpone the difficult explanations until another day.

Connor finds Kit and Elijah in the hallway outside of Dawn's hospital room. "How is she?"

"A lot less sweaty that you," Eli points out. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah," Connor answers while still catching his breath. "I ran here."

"From the hotel?," Kit asks.

"Uh-huh."

"Impressive," Eli deadpans.

"So how's Dawn?," Connor asks again.

"Sedated," Elijah responds.

"She has a shattered patella," Kit reports. Connor looks confused. "Kneecap."

"Oh. Ow."

"Big ow," Elijah concurs. "Ergo the sedation."

"Fortunately, there's no cartilage or ligament damage," Kit continues. "Which should cut her rehab time in half." The doctors were quite surprised. They'd never seen such a localized, pinpoint knee injury.

"Can I take her home?"

"No way," Kit answers, a little shocked by the question. "They'd want to keep her overnight for the stab wounds alone. Anyway, she's scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning to reconstruct the kneecap."

"And then I can take her home."

Kit sighs. "Connor, it's a serious operation. Dawn was injured really, really bad."

"I know. That's why she needs me to take care of her." He passes by Kit and head to Dawn's room.

"He's from a world without hospitals," Elijah offers in Connor's defense. "And he's indestructible. Hence the lack of knowledge about how breakable most humans are."

"You always stick up for him."

"He means well."

"He's a selfish ass."

"Come again?"

"He only thinks of himself. When can I see her?' When can I shack up with her?' No concern for what Dawn's going through, or for what's best for her."

"He thinks he's best for her."

"Like I said: he's completely self-centered."

A drowsy, glassy-eyed Dawn looks up and sees Connor. "You again. Are you real this time?"

"I think I am. You can decide for yourself." He leans in and gently kisses Dawn on the lips. Dawn smiles.

"Told you I'd survive." Connor sits down next to the bed. Dawn takes his right hand in her right hand. "More-or-less in one piece," she jokes.

"Don't worry. You'll always be my girl, even if you are broken."

"Sweet. And, strange. Yep. Definitely the real you." She reaches her left hand out to touch his face.

"Looking forward to moving in with me?"

"I don't even get my own room? I thought that hotel was huge?" Connor looks stunned.

"I thought you wanted to - "

"Psyche." She smiles. "My first post-kneecapping joke."

"Good one."

"Well, you're an easy mark. I don't know if it's you or the morphine drip, but I'm starting to feel better. Less despon-, despond-, de - spon - dent. So many syllables. Yep, definitely the morphine drip."

"Don't I get some credit?" He leans in and they kiss slowly and softly for fifteen seconds.

"After that? maybe a . . . Buffy?" Well, that certainly killed the mood for Connor. He glances behind him, and sees Buffy, just inside the doorway. Connor stands up, slowly lets go of Dawn's hand and gingerly walks by Buffy, whose presence makes him uncomfortable. It's clear the feeling's mutual. Buffy hops over on her crutches.

"How's my brave little sister?"

"How's my brave big sister?"

"How do you think."

"That bad, huh."

Wes, Gunn and Fred sit in a room at the downtown LAPD office, looking at three surveillance videos simultaneously to observe what had happened in different sections of the store at the same time. "He spots the others. Then he checks his watch," Wesley observes. "That one must be the leader."

"And here comes the killing," Fred notes, trying to look away. "All of it over within five seconds."

"It's clear they feared being caught," Wes adds as they watch the vampires quickly leave the store.

"Hold it," Gunn jumps in. "Rewind to the beginning. Those are the same guys." Fred and Wes look at him as if he's saying something tremendously obvious. "Not the white ones. The black guys. What's their part?"

"Backup?," Wes guesses. "They certainly didn't participate."

"Yes they did. Watch camera three."

"No one gets attacked on camera three."

"Exactly. But now look at camera two. Which way are the guards facing?"

"Away from what's about to happen. But why?," Wes asks.

Gunn laughs. "Six brothers go into some yuppie store. All eyes on them."

"Which means no one paid attention to the killers 'till it was already too late," Fred realizes.

"Let's get printouts of these faces, so we know what we're looking for," Wes suggests.

"I don't get it," Gunn declares. "Since when were vamps afraid of gettin' seen? Usually, that's half their fun. A clean hit, with no witnesses. Ain't that a little too human for bloodsuckers?"

"They do display remarkable control and discipline," Wesley concurs.

"Maybe they're tryin' to send a message," Fred theorizes.

"Blocking the exits and killing everyone inside - that's how they usually send messages," Gunn responds. "Nothing says I mean business' like tearing the place apart."

David comes to Clayton's office a few minutes after seven pm. The sun is setting. "Heard you're leaving tonight," Clay says. "Getting an early start on the weekend?"

"I have meetings all day. In Washington. Anyone you want me to say hi to?"

"Don't bother. I get enough free advertising without you throwing my name around. Overexposure gives the impression of excessive ambition. For the time being, it's best if I lay low."

"I'll be sure to mention that to Mitch McConnell and the RSCC."

"I'm thirty one. Legally, I could serve. But pragmatically it's way too early. And do tell Tom DeLay the House is beneath me. Except, don't use those exact words."

"Tom doesn't know how to take a hint. Every time I see him, he badgers me about becoming a client. I keep trying to explain, Tom, we're evil, but we're not THAT evil.'"

Clayton chuckles. "We do have an image of respectability to uphold."

"Load-bearing pillars of the community!"

"Without which, the entire edifice of collapses collapses," Clay boasts with sarcastic self-importance.

"I'll see you Monday." Clayton snaps his fingers and points at David as he walks out. For the two of them, this was a surprisingly friendly encounter. The news from Sunnydale had brightened both their moods. Out in the hallway lurks Angel. David fails to notice the stealthy vampire. Once the lawyer's gone, Angel sweeps into the waiting room and opens the door to Clayton's office before the secretary can even get a word of warning out. Clay stands up. He's behind his desk, twenty feet in front of Angel.

"Angel! Well isn't this a surprise." A look of fury on his face, Angel takes two strides forward. Clayton whips out a stun gun in his right hand and fires. The electrodes shoot fifteen feet out and hook onto Angel's black sweater. He's hit with a series of massive shocks that send him to his knees. Angel reaches out and pulls on the wire, ripping the gun out of Clayton's hands. It falls near Angel, its trigger no longer pressed down. Angel rips off the electrodes, putting a hole in his sweater and revealing the white t-shirt underneath. Angel rises to his feet, physically weakened, but still full of fury. "Okay, this wasn't a complete surprise," Clay smugly boasts. "You appear to be angry with me. Why? I've made a point of not going after you." Angel walks towards Clay, who looks scared. Angel grabs the right side of his desk and overturns it, clearing the path between Angel and Clay. "Can't we talk this over before resorting to violence?"

"How about after?" Though Clay looks frightened, Angel can't smell any fear. Thus, he keeps his eyes and ears ready to sense another trap. Angel lands a left uppercut to Clay's stomach, and follows it up with a right cross for Clayton's face. But the lawyer ducks, and Angel's fist slams through the binding of a law book. He connects with a left hook to Clay's ribs, since the lawyer has his hands up to protect his face. Clay blocks a right hook of his face by catching Angel's fist in his left palm. The lawyer immediately counters with a right palm to Angel's nose and a right roundhouse kick to Angel's chest that sends him back six feet, a very difficult kick to throw when your back's to the wall. Angel pauses for a moment. Clearly, Clayton fought far better than any other lawyer Angel had known.

"Am I supposed to feel intimidated?," Clay taunts. Angel goes bumpy. Clay pulls a small bottle out of his right pants pocket and sprays a stream of water at Angel, burning his chest. "Holy water. Under pressure. Mace for vampires." Clay now aims for the face. The two of them face off, two steps apart, each waiting for the other to blink. Angel elects to hold his ground rather than risk temporary disfigurement. The slimy yet surprisingly resourceful lawyer isn't worth it. Angel returns to his human face, but continues leaning menacingly forward, as if ready to pounce.

"Did you scumbags have a little party when you heard what happened in Sunnydale?"

"I, for one, felt grateful to Buffy. She does us such wonderful favors by saving the world again and again. And today, she made me a cool eight hundred grand. I have enormous faith in that brave young woman. No pun intended."

"I'm not sure she'd welcome your praise."

"I don't mind. My admiration for her is not conditioned on reciprocity."

"You see, when good people die, their friends and loved ones look for someone evil to blame. They can't blame the First, because it's gone. But they can blame you."

"Or you." Angel growls. Clay doesn't even shiver. By now, Gavin would be lying on the floor in the fetal position, wetting himself. But Clayton hasn't even broken a sweat. There's something deeply unnatural about this lawyer. "You were the one who refused my help."

"You were the one who offered it on conditions you knew I would find unacceptable."

"So now I have a duty to help? Your whole line of argument is based on that highly dubious premise."

"You did me a favor by offering that torque. Now I'm doing you a favor by giving this warning."

"Who is it you're avenging? Certainly not that vampire. Is it Faith? Wait. Don't tell me it's the Watcher."

"I'm not the one you should worry about. When Lindsey learns that you could have saved Faith's life, I don't think he's going to quibble about duties and obligations. I think the same could be said for Willow."

"The witch?" Clay thinks for a few seconds, then laughs. "Was she bedding that sixth Slayer? Talk about bad luck! For the record, I'm quite confident I'll be retaining possession of all my skin for several decades more. Even if she does wake up from that coma. As for Lindsey, I admire and respect the man too much to ever view him as an enemy."

"When did you begin to think you could smarm your way out of any situation?"

"Angel, I do believe you're misunderestimating me. Which, being a double negative, actually means you're correctly estimating my abilities. You can take it either way. I'm prefer ambiguity. Life's more fun when you're not sure."

"You prefer slithering away when things get too hot. I know your type."

"You can't possibly know my type. Your type, on the other hand, is quite familiar. Don't you see the hypocrisy in complaining that the apocalyptic battle to save mankind was too costly? Or is your objection to the fact that your friends were the ones who paid that cost? A few thousand anonymous Angelinos get massacred by vampires during a week of darkness, and it doesn't hit you too hard. In fact, you'd be lost without it. You need suffering, Angel. Because there is no place for heroes in a world without suffering."

"There's no place for anyone in a utopia. That's what it means: no place."

"I'm not talking utopia. I'm talking about a demon-free world. That's the natural order of life. We don't bleed into their worlds. They should keep out of ours. There's no reason we should accept their depredations."

"Do the Senior Partners know how you feel?"

"It's good you brought them up. Has it ever struck you as odd that you and the Senior Partners have the exact same world view? All of you believe in a grand final battle where whether you go good or evil will decide the world's fate. But what if you're both wrong?"

"Playing Devil's Advocate to the company credo?"

"Thanks to your repeated successes, the guys upstairs care a lot less about beliefs, and a lot more about competence. As long as I serve their interests, they don't care what I believe. What I believe is that you lose either way, whether you're Angel or Angelus. And that Wolfram & Hart loses either way. Because I believe in a better world on this mortal plane. And I think the Almighty does as well. Why would a just God create a world where your own individual salvation requires that the multitudes be put in mortal peril? Putting the hero above the masses, it's all rather Nietzschean. Nietzsche said God was dead. In which case you can't be saved, and all this striving for redemption is pointless."

"I'm sorry. Was any of that supposed to make the least bit of sense?"

"People are killed every day by horrible monsters. All those thousands of tiny tragedies never got to you. Until one fateful day, when a few of the tiny tragedies turned out to be people you knew and cared about. I believe this is what they call the chickens coming home to roost."

"Do you always need to rely on cliches when you want to sound coherent?"

"Do you always rely on sarcasm when you want to mask defeat?" They stand there, eyeing each other, acting all macho. Angel's surprised Clayton can even pretend to act macho. It contradicts his pony tail hair and pastel suits. Clay's the same height as Angel, though skinnier, and, of course, without vampire strength. And yet, he's practically begging Angel to take a swing. Must be a masochist, Angel incorrectly concludes.

"I've been defeated. I know what defeat feels like. This, this hollow gloating of yours, doesn't even come close."

"Why did you come here?"

"To warn you. I don't want your gruesome death on certain people's consciences."

"You came to prevent vengeance? Funny, I thought you came to wreak vengeance. Just a little, of course. Enough to make you feel better. Speaking of things that can make you feel better, how is life with Buffy now that your Curse has been lifted?" That was one provocation too many. Angel slugs Clayton's left eye with a right hook, and he crashes to the ground. Angel gets a quick look at the knocked-out lawyer, turns around and leaves. Clayton stands up, runs to the open door, takes the torque out of his left breast pocket and flings it at Angel, hitting him in the back of the head as he was leaving the waiting room. Angel slowly turns his head partway round and glares at Clay. "I thought you should have this. I don't got any use for it." Angel gets his right toes under the ring, kicks it up and snatches it with his right hand before slamming the door shut. Clay's secretary looks alarmed when she sees his face.

"It's okay, Sandy."

"I'll get you some ice." It's already starting to swell. "Do you want me to cancel your 7:15?"

"The conference call about the Brackman settlement? I wouldn't dream of it."

"You should take some time to recuperate."

He looks at his watch. "I've got five minutes. That should do it."

Amanda and Preston sit on a hill in Griffith Park, watching the sun set. "You were limping," he points out.

"Pulled a muscle."

"And your neck?"

"A falling metal girder hit me during the earthquake."

"I heard the aftershock today was a 7.8. Some aftershock."

"It was pretty scary." Though not as scary as Nina and the carnage she caused before the quake.

"I heard that this one and the quake on Saturday were the strongest in California in at least two hundred years."

"I suppose that's why they call it the Big One. Or, ones. Do they call it that?"

"How come you were there?"

"Ughh, ummm, we were late getting out."

Preston doesn't look convinced. "Five days late?"

"I was stranded."

"Amanda, I know there's something weird going on. That, that creature you saved me from – was it a vampire?"

Amanda laughs nervously, before realizing she can't deny her way out of this one. "Uh-huh. And remember what happened after I killed it?" Preston smiles. Amanda leans in and kisses him. She gets on top, then he tries to get on top, and soon they're rolling down the hill together, laughing, before breaking apart halfway down. They get to their feet, horse around, laugh and smooch some more. She can't deny. But at least for now, she can distract.

"They don't want to get caught," Angel concludes after he gets back home and talks about the latest vampire attack with Gunn, Wes and Fred. "That tells me they're smart. But it also tells me they're scared."

"And probably hard to find," Gunn adds. "My guess is these guys like to keep a low profile."

"One thing I don't get," Angel begins. "How did they know the people would look at the black vampires and ignore the white ones?" The three of them stare at him. "This isn't Alabama in 1955. Why would it be such a big deal that six black men walk into a department store?" They keep looking at Angel as if he's clueless. "So what if the person's skin is a different color. Shouldn't it be more shocking that they don't have reflections?"

"For a two hundred fifty year-old former mass murderer, you're really p.c.," Fred concludes.

"Do people stare at you in stores?," Angel asks Gunn.

"Depends which neighborhood."

"My God. I had no idea."

"You really need to get out more."

"I get out plenty. But I practice a different kind of profiling."

"You care more about the skin's temperature, not its color," Wes quips. "Now, I'm been meaning to ask about, when you arrived back here, you put something in the office. Something, judging from the sound, that was large, and heavy."

"Just a torque."

"A torque? That's a rather dated fashion statement."

"It's supposed to be from Gergovia." Wesley gasps, then races into the office. Angel just stands there as Gunn and Fred follow Wes in. He quickly opens drawers until he finds the object, holding it up to the light and gazing at the designs carved into the object's surface. "The Gergovian Torque."

"And why does it make you look like a kid on Christmas morning?," Gunn asks.

"It's known as the Dragon Slayer in Gaul. The Giant Killer in Britain and Ireland. Supposed, it has the power to smote even Ascended demons. But it usually also smotes the Champion who wears it."

"This is what Wolfram & Hart offered me the other night," Angel says from over near the couch. "In exchange for the murder of a ten year-old girl."

"You turned them down," Fred recalls. She hadn't known the substance of the negotiations.

"Then how come you have it?," Gunn asks, expressing their suspicions.

"Today, I went back there to vent my frustrations. Maybe put some fear into a few of the new Junior Partners. They gave me this."

"Now that you no longer need it," Wes notes. "Not that you ever did, need, it."

"I'm okay with it. Okay, I'm not. But I will be. I can't play by their rules. Even if it could have . . . we don't even know if it would have made a difference."

"There's no evidence that a Titan could be overpowered by a blast of pure energy," Wesley offers in support. "This very likely would have killed the turokh-hans – by the hundreds, no doubt. But that still leaves the enemy who caused most of the casualties unscathed."

"And it mighta left Angel fried," Fred points out. "Or Spike. And he got fried anyway."

"I don't know why I was foolish enough to parley with them in the first place," Angel wonders. "Maybe to get a better sense of our new enemy."

"We all had reason to suspect that Wolfram & Hart wanted the First to be defeated," Wesley recalls.

"Why let some other baddie beat you to the world-destroying punch?," Gunn adds.

"Perhaps they believed that Buffy didn't need their help," Wes proposes. "But you were correct to hear them out. If there was even a chance they wanted to make a difference - "

"I thought the quid pro quo would be a little more . . . practical," Angel confesses. "He didn't even ask for a favor. All he wanted was for me to do something I'd feel guilty about."

"Sounds like he knew you'd feel guilty either way," Fred remarks.

"This is the new and improved Wolfram & Hart?," Gunn scoffs, trying to boost Angel's spirits. "No longer trying to beat you. No longer trying to turn you evil. Now they just play mind games?"

Wesley thinks Charles might be onto something. "Perhaps they've concluded that they can't corrupt you. At least not for the price they are willing to pay."

Clayton sits in the back of a limo, talking to Victor and Louis. The phone's in his right hand, and an icebag's in his left. "Four illegals. How do I know? We got a helicopter with an infra-red camera. How can I be sure they're not yours? They're hunting in the alleys of West Hollywood. That's right. Angel's neighborhood. And at this early hour! What am I talking about? Since his hotel went operational, Mister Undead Businessman's been keeping to a not-quite-nocturnal schedule. So you agree that we should leave the poor saps for the enemy? Good. Cause if you don't throw Angel a few bones now and then, he'll start to get suspicious." Clay lowers the divider. "Stop here," he says to the driver before stepping out. He walks a block before spotting the foursome. "Hey fellas!," he announces with a friendly smile. "You guys new in town? Need a place to stay? How bout a bite to eat?" One of them grins, looks at Clayton, goes bumpy and charges. The lawyer appears terrified and runs into a dead-end alley. The vampires eagerly pursue the fool at half-speed, wanting to prolong the chase. But Clay's fast, so they increase to three-quarter speed. Catching him doesn't matter, since pretty soon they'll be nowhere for him to run. Nothing like a trapped victim. But eighty feet into the two hundred foot-long alley, Connor leaps off a three story roof and knocks down two vampires. He finds that patrolling from rooftops offers him a better view of the bad guys, in addition to being way more fun.

"Welcome to LA," Connor announces. Clayton doubles back, circles round the fight and positions himself at the entrance to the fifteen foot-wide alley. The helicopter had also noticed a person leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the vicinity of the vampires. Clay assumed it was Connor, since Angel prefers a more low-key approach. That made this a perfect opportunity for his sales pitch. Connor hits one vampire with a left hook and downs the other with a right roundhouse kick. When the first two stand up, he hits one with a leaping right kick and nails the other with a right cross and a right hook. The other two vampires flee. Clayton stands in their way, legs spread, arms at his sides. He sprays the vamp on his right in the face with his holy water, grabs the other one's shirt with both hands and shoves him into the wall to Clay's left. Connor makes quick work of his two opponents, and approaches the vamp who is still smoking and in agony from the holy water. Clay dodges a right hook and lands right and left jabs. The vampire leaps at Clay and grabs him. Clayton head-butts the vampire in the nose and drives him back into the wall. Connor finishes off the third vampire and stops the watch the stranger do battle. Clay kicks his opponent in the stomach with his right foot. He blocks a right cross, lands right and left crosses, ducks a left hook, then connects with a left uppercut and a right hook. At this point, he's just showing off for Connor.

Clay blocks a right hook with his right palm and proceeds to pummel the vampire with three straight left hooks, causing him to stagger in a clockwise direction away from the wall. After the third hook, Clay starts to throw a fourth, pulls his fist back, keeps spinning and lands a right roundhouse kick. The vampire goes down. Clayton picks him up and rams the vampire head-first into the opposite wall. Clay's showmanship is beginning to make this look less like slaying and more like pro wrestling. But before resorting to a pile driver, Clay lands a right uppercut, a right hook, and jabs his left hand forward to stake the vamp and put him out of his misery. He looks at Connor. Clayton's wearing navy blue pants, a light blue shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a white trench coat and white shoes shined so bright you could see your reflection in them. Connor finds him a very odd man. Which is saying something, considering how odd Connor is. "Sometimes I get carried away," Clay says to Connor about his latest brawl. He puts the stake in his jacket pocket and looks at his knuckles. "I'm going to need to ice these tonight."

"You're lucky I showed up," Connor boasts.

"I appreciate the help. But I had the situation under control."

"You can't take four."

"No. But I could take two. And experience tells me that, at that point, the other two would run away."

"You do this a lot?"

"More than I'd like," he answers, trying to wink his left eye. As expected, this causes Connor to notice the swelling. "Another vampire. Earlier tonight. He was a lot tougher than these guys."

"You hit my third kill with something."

Clay takes out his can. "Holy water." He sprays some into his mouth. Then he sprays some at Connor's face, ten feet away. Connor laughs.

"That's cool."

"And, for the likes of me, occasionally life-saving."

"So what are you? Some sort of demon fighter?" He certainly wasn't dressed like one.

"Lawyer. Clayton Jenkins, Esquire." He flicks Connor a business card. Connor grabs it out of the air. Once he sees the name of the firm, Connor gets very suspicious. He looks around for vans, helicopters or snipers. Just to be safe, he grabs Clay from behind, puts his right hand around the lawyer's throat and his left hand on top of his head. He starts choking Clay, with his hands in position to snap his neck if any commandos try anything. Clayton doesn't resist.

"It's only me, Connor," he wheezes in a surprisingly calm voice. "Let me talk, before you kill me." Connor lets go. He can't see or hear anyone.

"That's not a proper choke hold," Clay jokes. "You shouldn't grip the whole neck. Squeeze with the fingertips, and go for the trachea."

"Then I would have killed you, and you'd be useless as a hostage," Connor replies with a smirk. He has to respect the guy for keeping his composure. In appearance, Clayton is the antithesis of Holtz. But his demon-fighting acumen and his calmness under pressure remind Connor a little of his adopted father.

"I understand your wariness. But I've only been in Los Angeles for three months. Please do not blame me for the malicious and foolhardy acts of my predecessors. Who, let's be honest, got what they deserved."

"So what's that mean? You guys ain't evil not more?"

Clayton chuckles. "We are profit-seeking. Amoral, at times. But only in the search for material gain. Do you know what does not produce monetary gains? Attacking you and you father. In fact, it's produced considerable losses. If you and he wish to continue fighting our firm, I understand. We are, as I've already admitted, amoral. But will we no longer fight either of you."

"You're lying. This is a trick." Experience has taught Connor that most of the people who approach him are liars who want to exploit him.

"What if, every time you walked down a certain street, someone with a shotgun but buckshot in your ass? First, you'd try to find the shooter. But he moves around. On any given day, He can be on any floor in any building on the entire block. So every time you seek him out, you take more buckshot. After a while, you get pretty sick of pulling pellets out of your rear. It becomes impossible to sit down. Your life is agony! So finally, you learn your lesson, and decide to never walk down that street again."

"Why doesn't he ever aim for your head? Cause that's what I'd do," Connor threatens, walking slowly and menacingly towards Clay. "If you ever hurt Dawn."

"Hasn't she been through enough? Haven't you been through enough?"


	4. The Offer

"You trying to work me?," Connor asks, both contemptuous of Clayton's chances and flattered by his attention. Usually it's Angel Wolfram & Hart tries to mess with.

"The firm for which I work has tried to do quite a lot to you over the years. Well, year-and-a-half. Their stated intention was to capture and dissect you. Preferably while you were still alive, but at some point death would have been inevitable. Before you had even been born, they brought in a doctor who specialized in demon anatomy to cut open you and your mother. While you were an infant, they made several attempts to kidnap you. I've seen the documentation; the orders from the Senior Partners. Very damning stuff. Which of course I'm legally prevented from showing you. Unless you sued, in which case it would probably come out in discovery. And juries love helpless babies almost as much as they hate big bad law firms."

"Aren't you supposed to offer me something, and then I tell you to go to Hell?"

Clayton chuckles. "Then again, you're not exactly the litigious type. I am. Otherwise, why would I have become a lawyer? If my adversary is weaker than I am, like that vampire I just staked, I destroy them. If my adversary is stronger, I settle. This is me settling."

"I got better things to do that listen to a guy who doesn't make any sense," Connor responds as he turns around and walks away.

"Don't you want a place of your own? A place for just the two of you? Where you and Dawn can go to be alone. To escape from the world, and its troubles. A cozy little cabin in the mountains, perhaps?" Connor stops and slowly turns around. Clayton flashes a subtle, Mephistopholean grin. "I have a place in Crestview, about five hours north from here by car. The woman I love no longer likes the mountains. The altitude plays tricks with her inner ear, or something. She's a fragile, precious, powerful creature. I live to make her happy. I could sell the property and make some money I don't even need. Or, I could give it to you and your beloved. My beloved advocates that last course of action. I sell it on the open market, and it ends up in the hands of some movie producer or investment banker who doesn't need it, and won't even appreciate it. I know you'll appreciate it. I know that it will bring you more happiness than it ever could bring them. Mona's always telling me that cold hard cash isn't the only currency that matters. There are spiritual credits and debits: the joy and pain you visit upon others. That's the sort of profit I'm looking to earn in this transaction."

"What's the price?," Connor skeptically asks.

"It's a gift."

"I'm not talking Benjamins. What are you trying to make me do?"

"Nothing. The property is mine. It has no connection to Wolfram & Hart. This has nothing to do with business."

"Right. Cause we're such good friends. I've never even met you. And now you're giving me a house?"

"You don't think of yourself as deserving?"

Connor scoffs. "No one gets what they deserve."

"Usually. But not always. We do have free will. We don't have to be brutal cutthroats stepping over our fellow man to get ahead ALL of the time. We can choose to do nice things every now and then." Clayton pauses. Connor still appears skeptical. "I misspoke earlier. This is, in part, about business. It's a settling of accounts. That's what I've been doing the last few months: taking care of my predecessors' mistakes."

"So your evil law firm's trying to buy me off."

"No. That implies a change of behavior contingent upon payment. I'm not asking you to change your behavior. Also, Wolfram & Hart is not giving you anything. It's my cabin. My loss. Even though I've done nothing to you. But that's the kind of guy I am." Connor gets within six inches of Clayton to look and sniff him over. Clay calmy stands there, his pulse staying at a resting rate. Like Angel, Connor notices this guy is harder to intimidate than previous lawyers. Connor's close enough to kill Clay before he'd have time to defend himself. The lawyer starts whistling "Blue Moon of Kentucky" to break the tension. Connor steps back.

"Okay. You're human."

"I'm honored to that you thought I was something more."

"You mean something less."

"Touche." He reaches into his front left pants pocket, pulls out a key chain with two keys and a laminated slip of paper hanging from it, and tosses them to Connor. "The gold one's for the house. The silver one's for the garage. The place is sparsely furnished. Not quite all the comforts of home, but I'm sure you've made do with a lot less. No ghosts. No curses. No demons or susquatches roaming the hills. No catches whatsoever. If it sounds too good to be true, well then, most of your life and some of Dawn's life has been too awful to be true. It's a matter of balance." Clayton holds his hands up, mimicking a scale while slowly backing away from Connor.

"And what does my dad get?" Clayton stops twenty feet in front of Connor.

"Why do you think I'd give him anything?"

"You said your firm's done messing with both of us." Connor doesn't believe this, but those were Clay's words, and he wants to check the consistency of Clayton's argument/lie.

"Angel believes that he deserves to suffer. He would never accept any gift that could make him feel happier. You get a gift because I don't think you deserve to suffer. Am I right?"

Connor looks at the keys, and at the address written on the tag. Then he looks back at the lawyer. "It's a trick. This is all a lie. Maybe it's one I'll like. But if it's not . . . "

"Do I look like a man courting death?," Clay jokes. "A lie requires concealment of the truth. I've concealed nothing. Of course, in our deceitful world, perhaps even truth-telling can be a form of trickery."

"If we go to this place, and Dawn gets even a splinter - "

"You'll play football with my head. Understood. I, too, am in love with a woman I hope to spend the rest of my days with. The mere thought of living without Mona is unbearable. Have the two of you arrived at that sublime moment when you each lose your individuality and, well, fuse into a single, psychic organism? Where when she's happy, you're happy. When she hurts, you hurt. Her strength is your strength. Her fears are your fears. You realize that you simply can't function without her, and that knowledge is not terrifying. In fact, it's exhilarating." Clay can tell the love stuff is making headway, though his philosophizing seems to be falling on deaf ears. Time to try to find another way to relate to the boy. "It's like that Nelly song: Why does Wolfram & Hart act this way? Heyyy, must be the money!" Connor chuckles. "There's no money to be made in fighting you or Angel. In fact, a lot of money's already been lost."

"So you wanna buy me off?"

Clayton sighs. "Connor, it's not that simple. Nothing is. I'm also rewarding you for defeating Mal. If you had not killed him a week ago tonight, I'd probably be dead by now, and our firm's Los Angeles branch would be on the verge of collapse. So, you may say my primary motives are two-fold: on behalf of Wolfram & Hart, I'm saying Sorry for trying to kill you' and Thank you for saving our lives.' To think, there are those who say irony is dead. Happy hunting." Clayton puts his hands in his pockets, walks past Connor and ambles out of the alley, whistling Hank Williams' "I Saw The Light." Connor stands there for a while, looking at the keys in his right hand. He balls his right fist around the keys and heads for home.

"Where the Hell have you been?," Angel demands to know when he sees Connor in the library at about half past eleven. "I've been worried sick all night."

"I went to see Dawn," Connor nervously responds, putting his right hand in his pocket, then pulling it out, key-free.

"I mean since then. Your friends said you left the hospital six hours ago."

"You talked to Kit and Eli?," Connor asks with a smile, trying to change the subject. "I thought you didn't like him."

"Connor, you have responsibilities. You can't go running off whenever you want. Especially at night. You know that's when most of our work is done."

"I was hunting! I killed three vampires. Isn't that work?"

"What about Dawn's vision? We could have used your help patrolling the beaches."

"It's tomorrow. Dawn said it happens Friday night. That means it's Friday night."

"She was making an educated guess. Believe me, the visions are never that precise. Cordy's misinterpreted many."

"You don't get it. Her operation's tomorrow. That's why the Powers gave it to her early. And she's right! Did you find any monsters tonight?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I did. There was an Oxcan demon under the Redondo pier."

"It was hibernating," Wesley points out.

"Better to kill it before it wakes up and hurts someone."

"I don't believe this!," Connor whines. "I spend the night killing vampires, and you're yelling at me because I didn't waste time like you all did. Unbelievable." He starts to run off.

"Connor!," Angel shouts. He slowly turns around. "Where do you think you're going now?"

"Why? What am I missing?" Connor leaves.

"Look on the bright side," Fred suggests. "At least he doesn't wanna kill ya."

"You always say that," Angel replies.

"Because it's important to remember." Due to their experiences the previous Summer, Fred and Gunn view Connor as always on the edge of going psychotic. Much as Buffy does.

Wesley steps forward to put Fred's argument in a different context. "Is Connor's relationship with you worse than your relationship with your father when you were his age? I know it's not worse than the one I had with my father."

"How dysfunctional were you people?," Fred wonders, slightly aghast at their low standards.

"Undoubtedly, most of the credit goes to you," Wesley continues. "You've been exceptionally affectionate and understanding, considering the circumstances. You haven't cut Connor down with faint praise and pointed criticism, vowed that he's never going to measure up to you, incessantly reminded him that he's never made you proud, and probably never will."

"Damn, you need therapy," Gunn suggests.

"Am I the only one here who has parents they like?," Fred asks.

"I liked my parents," Gunn responds. "Course, they ain't here no more."

"Buffy hates her dad. Willow hates her mom. Xander hates his entire family. Cordy's parents are in prison. What is it about demon hunting and domestic dysfunction?," Fred wonders.

Dawn slowly opens her eyes. The room's dark, but she recognizes the figure standing to the right of her bed and holding her right hand as Connor. "W-wh-what are you doing here?," she mumbles, her speech slurred by painkillers.

"I wanted to see you." He leans in and kisses her on the cheek. Dawn looks at the clock on the wall behind him.

"It's two in the morning. That's a little late for visiting."

"Don't worry. Nobody saw me."

"The operation's in a couple hours. I have to rest."

"I thought you rest during the operation. Don't they knock you out?"

Dawn puts her left hand on top of Connor's right hand. "Connor, I'm glad you care, but stop." He lets go of her hand and backs up, outraged.

"Stop!? Stop caring about you?"

"Stop hovering."

"So now you don't want me around."

"I love you. But you're not the only person in my life. And I shouldn't be the only person in your life. A lot of horrible things happened to a lot of people today. I'm one of the lucky ones. Just, try to see the big picture. Try to think about the feelings of others."

"Fine. I'll go. Bye Dawn." Connor slouches out of the room. Dawn wishes she could have phrased it better. Connor can be so thin-skinned and immature sometimes.

Buffy uses her left crutch to knock on Angel's door. He wakes up, puts on a shirt and answers. "Buffy."

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep. Did I wake you? Some creature of the night you are," she jokes to relieve the tension.

"I thought you wanted to be alone."

"Tried it. Didn't help. Now I'm trying something else. Can I come in?"

"Of course." He steps away from the door.

"Not that I need to be invited. Staying up all night. Asking for an invitation. Looks like we got a little role reversal going on." She chucks the crutches. "I hate these stupid things. They make me feel so - " she says while hopping on her right foot towards the bed.

"Helpless?" She plops down on the bed.

"I was going to say slow. But now that you mentioned it, I'm not very Slayer-ly at the moment." Angel sits down on a chair to the left of Buffy. "I'm not contagious."

Angel laughs. Buffy holds out her left hand. "Oh. You want me to climb into bed with you." He looks nervous.

"Don't worry. Maybe it's because of the cast on my leg, or the still-painful stab wound in my stomach, or the deaths I'm mourning, but I'm really not in the mood tonight."

Angel realizes his tentativeness was absurdly presumptuous, and lies down to Buffy's left. "I know what it's like to lose people."

"Really? Who?"

"Doyle."

"Doyle? Ohhh. You mean that Irish half-demon whose visions somehow ended up in my sister's head."

"I'm sure that wasn't his intention," Angel deadpans. In fact, Dawn has the visions because Doyle had faith in Cordelia. So, Buffy could blame Cordy for the whole thing. Which would suit Buffy just fine. "I was going to give up my life to save all those people. But he beat me to the punch. Literally. For the next week, I kept wishing it had been me."

"Angel, this is different. No one had to die. They died because I failed. Faith, and Giles, and everyone else. They died because I couldn't get the job done."

"Which happened because Nina hit you with one of Mal's arrows."

"What?"

"After you were taken out, I found it on the ground. It was his. Just like the ones he put through me. So if you want to pass blame, pass some of it this way. I'm the reason she wanted to make you suffer."

"She had sadism to spare before they even met."

"But, from what I've seen and heard, she makes her kills quick. Stringing you along was unprofessional. It was personal."

"I think her motivation went a bit beyond Your boyfriend killed my boyfriend.'"

"I know. But I didn't make things any easier for you."

"If it makes you feel any better, you wouldn't have made a difference. You and you friends would have been killed or maimed just like everyone else."

"It's a comforting thought," Angel says both seriously and sarcastically. He puts his right arm around her shoulders and holds her left hand with his left hand. "She hit you with that arrow for two reasons. First, because she was afraid of you." Buffy scoffs. "You were the most powerful enemy she had. Second, like you said, she was a sadist. She wanted you to feel helpless. She knew how much that would burn you up inside. But it wasn't enough, because you had protected and trained those girls. They were ready. You're the one who made that possible."

"It doesn't mean Giles had to die. Or Willow," Buffy starts crying. "I let them down. I let my friends down."

"No you haven't. Not yet. But if you keep this up, you will. Nina wanted you to blame yourself. You stay like this, she wins."

"It's not that simple. I can't deny away what happened. I'm the Slayer. I'm supposed to save the world. I'm supposed to protect the people I love. I failed." She cries some more. Angel puts both arms around her and holds her close. She leans her head against his chest.

"That's why it's tough being a general." This stings because it reminds her of what Giles said about her role.

"I was a lousy general."

"You won."

"Not because of any special orders I gave."

"Battles never go according to plan. You train the soldiers so that, when the moment comes, they can think for themselves and get the job done, no matter what comes up. Some of them are going to die. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Maybe. Sometimes. But I'm not the sit-back-and-watch kind of general."

"I feel guilty." Buffy looks up at Angel suspiciously.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Another kid? Perhaps another pseudo-girlfriend?

"Mal could have killed everyone I loved. But he got his jollies making them watch him kill me: the weak watching the strong suffer. Nina was the opposite. She got off on the strong watching the weak suffer. I'm very lucky Mal didn't think like Nina."

"If this Mal vampire was so high and mighty, how did you manage to kill him?"

"I got very lucky. Connor hit a million-to-one shot. I couldn't stand up for the next two days, though. They literally had to carry me back here."

"Sounds like you were pretty stake-able. Why didn't he just . . . oh, right. Putting you out of your misery would have lessened the fun factor. Guess his sadism saved your life."

"And Connor."

"That's what I meant. Connor, sadism. Po-ta-to, pot-a-to." Angel lets that pass on account of Buffy's physical and emotional suffering. Besides, he knows better than anyone how Connor likes to stretch out the pain rather than go for a quick kill.

"The point is I was lucky. There were factors outside of my control. There always are. Sometimes they help. Sometimes they hurt. This time, for you, they really hurt. And the only way to make the pain go away is to keep on fighting. Win the next battle. You got five Slayers looking to you for leadership."

"I think they're just looking to go home. I know I would."

"Maybe, after experiencing something like this, they can't. You and Willow and Dawn and Xander – and even Wesley – you're their family now."

"Wesley's part of my family? Since when?" They share a chuckle.

"Your extended family."

"Very extended." To Buffy, there will only ever be one Watcher.

"Half a dozen Slayers. With that kind of power, you can take on the world."

Buffy looks worried. "Can't I rest for a few days before then? Taking on one measly Hellmouth was tough enough." Angel smiles. Buffy leans up and kisses him for a few seconds to say "Thank you" for the pep talk. Then she falls asleep, wrapping her arms around Angel's chest and resting her head on his heart. Angel holds her and listens to her breathing. He falls asleep a few minutes later, having not slept in two whole nights.

On the long walk home, Connor thought about what Dawn said. It seemed disturbingly similar to what Angel had told him. Perhaps he was too fixated on Dawn. She was part of the group now, as was he, so maybe Connor should care more about the group as a whole. It took a long while, but eventually he agreed with Dawn, as always. When he arrived back at the hotel, Connor elected to go up the Angel's room and apologize for his earlier selfish behavior. He opens the door, and sees Angel and Buffy in each other's arms. What a hypocrite! All that talk about thinking about others, about not getting caught up on one girl, and here Angel was with Buffy. Cordy had barely been gone one day. Spike had been gone even less. How quickly they forgot. Connor slams the door. How quickly he forgot about empathizing with others. Connor runs up the stairs and marches past the Slayers' rooms on his way to see Eli, who of course is asleep. So Connor goes up to his room to fume and brood himself to sleep. Ariella hears someone whoosh by very quickly and opens her door to see who it is. In the room to her right, Fadila talks on the phone to her parents.

"That's right. I was there for both of them. But I'm fine. You looked up the Hyperion? West Hollywood. No, I didn't know which neighborhood I was in. I've never been here! It's not a shooting gallery! Or a brothel. Okay, it probably was both at one time, but now it's gentrified or something. It's very safe. Mom, relax. When will I be home? As soon as I can work it out. Don't send me a plane ticket. I don't want you to pay. They'll take care of it. Summer school starts in two weeks. Good to know. Yes, I know I have a whole semester to make up. But I think what's important is that I'm okay. It's over." Fadila laughs. "Yes dad. No one's trying to persecute' me anymore. Love you too." She hangs up and opens her door.

"Do your parents know what time it is?," Ella asks.

"It's 5:30 there. So they're up and calling me some more."

"Told ya you shouldn't have given them the number."

"It was nice hearing from them. At first. Then it seemed weird. Like I'm in a whole other world. All the things they worry about seem pointless." Fadila looks further on down the hall. "Are they in yet?"

"Yeah."

"Alone?"

Ariella laughs. "Of course! Madari was kissing her boyfriend in the hallway, but didn't let him come in."

"Spy."

"Not. She told me."

"Madari gossips about boys with you?," Fadila asks playfully, since Ariella won't even touch a boy on account of her religion.

"We're the two foreigners. We both understand that neither of us understands American dating."

"My grandfather says America is like the Old World, if the Old World didn't have any parents."

Ella laughs. "That's true." Especially from her limited experience, since the Americans she knows best either have no parents or act like they don't. "No fathers to punish you and scare the boys away. You have to look after yourself."

"I think Madari can do that just fine. I think we all can."

"How does the power feel?," Ariella asks Fadila.

"You ever watch The X-Files'?"

"The show's not so big in Israel. We have no many real enemies, there's no reason to make up make-believe ones."

"There was an episode where this device gets put in people's brains, and they have to keep moving at sixty miles-an-hour or their head explodes."

"That sounds just like Speed'."

"I never thought of that before. It seemed different, and a lot less lame, at the time. And that's how I feel: like there's this bomb inside me ready to explode, and they only way I can stop it is to use my power. Like I have two choices: slay or self-destruct. Slay or, you know, anything else that blows off steam."

"With me, it's the opposite. I feel like there's this sleeping giant in me, and if I use my power he'll awake, and I'll become a monster."

"That why you can't sleep?"

"Also, I'm not used to sleeping alone. Especially in such a big room."

"Four months of slumber parties can do that to you."

"It was like that even before I came here. Back home I shared a room with my two sisters."

"Want me to bunk with you?"

"No thanks. We don't have bunks, anyway. If it's okay, could I carry my mattress into your room and sleep on the floor?"

"Sure. Long as you handle any calls from my parents so I can get some rest."

"Do they know about me?"

"Yeah. They think I'm making some sort of political statement. Do yours know about me?"

"No. I think it would be too much of a shock for them." Fadila laughs. "I'm serious."

"I know. That's the funny part. We're talking about it like we're lesbians afraid of coming out."

Ariella backs up. "Maybe I shouldn't spend the night in your room."

"Don't flatter yourself. You're totally not my type," Fadila jokes. "Which would be harder for your parents to take?"

Ariella thinks for a few seconds. "Telling them I like women, or telling them I'm friends with a Palestinian? I think either one would give both of them heart attacks."


	5. The Surreal Worlds

While undergoing surgery, Dawn has various flashbacks and dreams, including one about Connor meeting an especially nubile Slayer. Also, Groo finds out that his Spike-worshipping bisexual Amazon lover only wants him for his seed.

Connor skulks downstairs a little after ten on Friday morning. He's wearing faded jeans and a short-sleeve black t-shirt over top a long-sleeve gray t-shirt. "Mornin' Connor," Fred says to him.

"How was Buffy?," he asks Angel with a sneer. Wesley looks rather shocked.

"She's doing better," Angel replies evasively.

"I saw you two in bed." Now Wes, Gunn and Fred all look at Angel, demanding an explanation.

"Nothing happened. We just, lied next to each other. She was depressed."

"She needed cheering up," Fred adds. "That's how it always starts."

"Nothing is starting! Besides – " he recalls getting told the Curse had been lifted, and how even Clayton seemed somehow to know this. "Never mind. That won't happen."

"Good," Connor remarks. "I am gonna marry her sister, so the two of you doing it would be kinda gross." Angel's jaw drops. If there was one thing worse than Connor's anachronistic self-absorption, it was this talk of marriage. Angel's friends are also creeped out by his connubial desires.

"Yes, that would be unsettling," Wesley comments, referring to Connor and Dawn getting married, not Angel and Buffy being together.

"See! He agrees with me," Connor notes.

"I didn't say that," Wes replies.

"Don't you think all this talk about the big M is a little rash?," Fred asks, trying to be nice about it. Connor's mentioned it before, but this is the first time they've challenged him, hoping to nip his disturbing delusions in the bud.

"You're eighteen. A month ago, you didn't even know this girl existed," Gunn points out. "You came back to this world a little over a year ago. That's a little soon to be promising Til death do us part.'"

Connor looks worried. Gunn thinks maybe he got through. "Won't we be together in Heaven?" They give up. Connor walks away. "I'm going to pick up Dawn at the hospital. We'll be back in a few."

"You're going to pick her up. By yourself?," Fred asks. She's picturing Connor trying to carry Dawn seven miles.

"Eli's driving us home." They all breathe a sigh of relief. With Connor, you never know. He walks out.

"Even when he's happy, he's still scary," Fred laments.

"That reminds me," Gunn recalls. "I gotta go pick up Xander and Anya in Santa Barbara."

"How is she?," Wes asks.

"Dunno. Well enough to leave," Gunn guesses.

Xander walks into Anya's hospital room. She's sitting in a wheelchair, a cast on the lower half of her left leg. Xander has a cast on his right arm extending from just below his shoulder down to his hand. His left hand, of course, is a prosthesis. "Are they here yet?," Anya asks with impatience. "I'm sick of being in this death trap."

"They're on their way. I'd drive you if I could. But . . . no hands." He holds his arms up to show.

"How's Willow?"

"She hasn't woken up."

"Is she here?"

"No. They took her to a specialist in LA. Buffy's already at the Hyperion Hotel. So are all the Potentials. I mean, former Potentials. Dawn should be arriving there sometime this afternoon."

"Joining the rest of the Sunnydale refugees. I've seen my share of mass exoduses. Who am I kidding? I've caused my share. But all those times, people fled because they lost. We won. Except, we look and act like we lost."

"Just because we won doesn't mean we didn't lose a lot in the process."

"I know the alternative of complete and utter defeat would feel a lot worse. But shouldn't there have been a third alternative, where victory could be bought at a more affordable price? One where Giles doesn't die?"

Xander sees the tears welling up in her eyes and tries to comfort Anya by putting his plastic left hand on her right shoulder. "Sorry An. I'd hug you, but right now I'm not equipped for that."

"The doctors told me I died. For about fifteen seconds. I think it was after they brought me to that tent hospital."

"Do you remember?"

"No. I remember nothing."

"You didn't know at the time?"

"I didn't say that I didn't remember anything. I said that I remember nothing. Everything went black. There was no tunnel, no white light, no feeling of warmth and peace. No feeling. I was nothing. I was inert. I wasn't going anywhere. It was the end." Xander waits about ten seconds. "On the plus side, at least it wasn't painful and fiery," Anya finally says. "That was where you were supposed to make light of the situation."

"Sorry. I'm a little out of practice," he replies is wry despair.

"I really need to do something with my life. To make a difference."

"You already have."

"Oh please! I've just been along for the ride." He starts pushing her in the wheelchair out of the room. "See! I'm still doing it. My life has to matter."

"Sounds like you've changed."

"I really have."

"You've decided that there are things more important than the pursuit of riches."

"Like Hell I have! Name one person who's changed the world without burgeoning reserves of capital?"

Xander smiles. "Thankfully, some things stay the same."

"Do you realize how many more people Buffy could help if she had sound financial backing?"

Dawn is on the operating table, covered from head to toe with the exception of her face and her left knee. She breathes in the anesthesia and goes to sleep. Her last conscious thought is of a conversation she had in the kitchen after Angel and Connor left the bunker on Wednesday night. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier," Dawn tells Buffy while they're cleaning the dishes. "It was mean."

"Wasn't your fault. Connor's a bad influence."

"What!"

"I mean, he's rude. Especially to me. You spend a lot of time around a rude person, their rudeness rubs off on you."

"Connor is very polite. Except when he feels threatened."

"Don't they say the same thing about gorillas at the zoo?" That does it. Dawn slams down the plate she's washing.

"Do I say mean things about your boyfriends?"

"Do my boyfriends try to kill you?"

"Angel did."

"Technically, you weren't even alive back then. He really tried to kill Willow."

"Excuse me?," Willow asks as she dries the dishes along with Xander.

"Angel told me that Cordy doesn't remember Dawn. Her brain wasn't effected by the spell." Buffy pauses and smirks. "I know there's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not gonna try to make it."

"She's blocked me out?," Dawn asks.

"How's it possible for her to have been immune from the spell?," Willow asks.

"It's got something to do with that Higher Being crap."

"Of course," Giles declares as he puts away the dishes along with Anya. "Cordelia was temporarily omniscient."

"All knowing?," Buffy asks. "There's irony for you."

"All seeing. Nothing hidden. No illusions."

"Her memories were re-re-written on the Higher Plane," Anya explains. "What the monks put in, the Powers must have taken out."

"Wait a second," Xander interjects. "You're saying Cordy is the only person on Earth who knows what our lives were really like? Did I still save Willow from Angel, like I saved Dawn?"

"I didn't bother to ask," Buffy responds.

"Connor was under the control of the First," Dawn argues. "Just like Spike was when he tried to kill you. You don't hold that against him."

"Connor attacked me even before the First started pulling his strings."

"So did Spike! Like, half a dozen times."

"Not after he got a soul."

"Fine," Dawn sighs. "None of your boyfriends have tried to hurt me when they had souls and weren't under the control of an evil entity."

"Can we just call it even and agree everyone's tried to kill Buffy, and Buffy's tried to kill everyone?," Anya asks.

"No she hasn't," Giles objects.

"Well, she has tried to kill me. And you."

"When we were in demon form."

"But she stopped trying to kill you when she knew it was you. With me, that was hardly a deterrent."

"Anya's got a point," Dawn states. Anya looks pleasantly surprised. "The past is the past. We have to put it behind us, forgive, and move on."

"That wasn't my point."

"It's a little harder when your ex-attempted murderer wants to join your family." Everyone stops what they're doing and freezes. "Care to explain?," Buffy asks Dawn. It takes her a few seconds to make sense of the insinuation.

"Ohhh. You mean the marriage thing. That's just Connor's way of saying I make him happy. Who told you?"

"Excuse me. The ma-ma-marriage Thing'?," Xander asks. A look of dread spreads across his face. "Oh God."

"Oh Goddess," Willow adds with the same look of dread. Giles is frozen in an expression of perplexity.

"He's not serious," Dawn assures them. "Actually, he is. It's his way. Connor's," she smiles as she thinks of the right word, "Intense."

"I'm going to throw up now," Xander announces as he looks around for the trash can.

"The two of you, have talked about, the, the, er, M thing?," Giles asks.

"Don't most guys talk about lifelong commitment after you sleep with them?," Dawn asks sarcastically. Buffy and Xander cringe at the reminder.

"That's one good thing about men who grow up in Hell dimensions," an astounded Anya jokes. From her millennia of experience, she knows how aberrational Connor is.

"The guy who raised him grew up before they had invented dating," Dawn tries to explain. "I think he was taught that when you find someone you love, you settle down with them and have kids and that's that."

"Kids?," Buffy asks. "He's mentioned kids? Angel didn't mention that."

"Technically, for him, they'd be grandkids," Anya quips.

"I let him know that would be like ten, fifteen years down the road at the earliest."

"You've actually thought about it!?," a horrified Buffy asks.

"With, with Connor?," Xander adds, putting his right hand to his mouth. "Oh God."

"I've trust you've explained to Connor the necessity, in our world, of college, and graduate school, and post-graduate work?," Giles asks. "Very often people don't earn enough money to start a family until well into their forties." He's also terrified by the notion, but unlike Buffy and Xander it doesn't cause him to break out in a cold sweat.

"Would it be an outdoor wedding?," Anya asks. "Because, then of course, the father of the groom couldn't attend."

"He wants it in a church," Dawn answers. "A big, old-fashioned traditional wedding."

"What does Connor know about tradition?," Willow asks.

"It's been centuries since anyone in that family had a wedding," Anya jokes.

"He . . . he . . . he talks about specifics?," Buffy asks, on the verge of passing out.

"I think it's what he does to pass the time when we're apart," Dawn responds with scarcely disguised pride. "He's already trying to name the children. He wants three daughters and a son. I told him No way am I having four children!' But, I think it's cause that Holtz guy had a large family. Before, you know, Connor's parents killed them." That reminds everyone of the rather twisted family tree such a marriage would create.

"Would this make the Master your in-law?," Willow asks Buffy.

"I, I think I need to sit down." She does, and tries to breath slowly.

"And I thought my wedding was going to be messy," Anya jokes.

"At least half of the wedding party would end up dead," Giles half-jokes.

"Half the potential wedding party already is," Willow reminds him.

"Who would be the best man?," Anya asks Dawn. "Who would give you away?"

"Elijah. Connor's already decided that. As for giving me away, I guess I'd choose Xander. Or Giles."

"You would expect me to do that voluntarily?," Xander asks.

"What, you think you still got a shot with me?," Dawn jokes, making Xander even more uncomfortable.

"I'm honored you'd think of me," Giles says before abruptly shifting course. "Are were under some sort of bloody spell again?"

"Don't look at me. I haven't had a spell that worked in a while," Willow very darkly jokes.

"Have you thought about what colleges you're applying to?," Buffy asks Dawn. "I was thinking of working three jobs to make enough money to send you to one of those prestigious Ivy League schools. You know, the ones that are three thousands miles away. Or possibly Oxford. That's twice as far."

"Connor got here from a portal-less dimension. I don't think a measly ocean would phase him."

"An ocean AND a continent. Besides, that's not what I meant. What I meant was, I want you to see as much of the world as possible. I want you to go to a great school with thousands of intelligent young men for you to meet."

"And intelligent young women," Dawn responds, causing several seconds of stunned silence. "I'm kidding." Buffy's mildly disappointed. Anything would be better than Connor.

Groo opens his eyes and wakes up. He is alone. Slowly, Groo rises to his feet, weakened more by his night with Panthesilea than by his dramatic fight to the death the previous day with a stubborn champion. He looks out of his tent, and sees Panthesilea showing off for the benefit of his warriors. She hangs upside down on her galloping horse, picks an arrow off the ground, swings herself right side up, turns the horse to the right, takes out her bow and knocks a rock off of a tree stump more than a hundred yards away. The men clap. As her horse slows down to a trot, she does a handstand on his back, stands upright to wave at the men and acknowledge their applause, then leaps to the ground. Her stallion walks over and licks her palms. She jokes with the men until she notices her other stallion walking towards her. "Groo! You're leg's all healed." He had received a fairly serious wound in the previous day's combat.

"It appears that you, also, are revitalized." The fact that he woke up alone bothers Groo. He fears he's getting dumped.

"No thanks to you," she jokes, pinching his left cheek.

"May we talk alone?"

"Sure. This about politics?" After all, they are both leaders of tribes. He walks her back into his tent.

"It is about us. What are we?"

"Equals. You're a king. I'm a queen."

"Are we king and queen."

She laughs. "Then we would not be equals. The queen is always below the king who chose her. If she chooses him, he still becomes superior. That is why I can never have a king. At least not one who is mortal."

"Are you saying our time together meant nothing to you?"

"No. No, no, no, no," she assures Groo as she embraces him and rests his head on her shoulder. "You're going to father my child." Groo steps back, looking very frightened.

"Father? I am going to be a . . . father?"

"You act like this is unusual. It happens all the time."

"Are we to have a family?"

"I'm going to have a daughter. Or, you're going to have a son." She walks up to him and puts her hands on his face. "Is this a problem? I think it's wonderful."

"You should have told me."

"It isn't over. We got about fourteen more nights to go. And days, if you're up to it. Trust me Groo, most guys would KILL for this chance."

"You're treating me like an animal. We are not cows."

"This is an honor. I need a daughter who is strong enough to survive the trials. You are not a normal man. You are part god. You can give me that child."

"I am no god. I am part demon."

"Like Spike. Except you're fertile." Groo likes to think he's more than that.

"Can I see her?"

"Of course. But only after she passes the trials on her sixth birthday."

"S-s-s-sixth? My trials began after my sixteenth birthday."

"You're a man. Women have to meet higher standards."

"If it is a son, will he know his mother?"

"No. And you can't tell him he's part-Amazon. If you do, they'll kill him. It's tradition."

"Tradition can change." Cordelia had taught him that.

"Not if it puts our way of life at risk."

"I never knew my father," Groo confesses.

"Neither did I," Panthesilea breezily answers, undercutting him through callous empathy. "You're not turning down this honor?" She pulls a large dagger out of her right boot. "Because I don't like to hear no."

"No." He shakes as her eyes appear to heat up. "No, I will not turn it down." She breathes a sigh of relief and puts away her weapon.

"Great!" She leaps at him, straddles her legs round his waist, kisses him for a few seconds, bites and stretches out his lower lip, arches her back so her hands touch the ground as she still holds on to him with her legs, giving him an excellent view of her sleek upper body, then lets go of his torso and does a backwards handspring. "See you tonight," she promises, turning around and giving him a smile as she looks over her shoulder. Groo's knees weaken while she leaves. Panthesilea was quite a woman. Like none he had ever known. Being put out to stud was demeaning and dehumanizing. But there were worse fates. And Groo didn't know it, but sleeping with Penny was politically valuable, since male warriors throughout the peninsula viewed her as both irresistible and unattainable. Outside, she kids around some with the local menfolk, with whom she communicates in their native language, in which she's competent, though not quite fluent.

"Is it true that you will lie with any man you cannot kill?"

"Yes." They smile. "Your wife will mind."

"If it is you, she'll understand," another one jokes as dozens of other men nod and laugh.

"You wife will mind, if I made her widow," she explains. The men all go "oooh!" and laugh. "Not joke," she assures them before walking away. She's often regretted making that promise public, since over the years it's resulted in her killing literally hundreds of men in duels. Mind you, this hardened warrior doesn't find this loss of like tragic. Just time-consuming. She walks a little ways through the forest, then spots a woman in her early twenties wearing a red gown dancing alone in a clearing. She is tall, an inch below six feet (Panthesilea is 5'9"). Her red curls flow down to below her waist. The gown stops at her knees, and Penny finds herself staring at her bare calves and feet, transfixed by their whirling movement. Two minutes later, Memnon walks up to Penny. He had been looking for her.

"I guess it's true when they say no man can satisfy you," he jokes.

"Shouldn't you be on the way to your wife?," she asks disparagingly, angered that he startled her out of her trance.

"She's traveling up with the kids to meet me on the coast."

"You let her travel. I thought husbands didn't do that."

"There's a lot you need to learn about men."

"Not from you, Memnon. Now leave me alone, or I'll tell you're wife you're checking out nymphs."

"She's not a nymph. And I'm here to discuss demobilization."

"Send the allies home. Send the mercenaries to garrisons. I'll handle the women."

"Apparently, even the ones who aren't under your command," He jokes.

"She will be," Panthesilea says with a smile.

"Even the lioness takes a few days to digest her kill before hunting for her next meal," he comments about her sexual appetite. Memnon knows that Amazon queens advertise their prowess through their large number of sexual conquests, in a sort of imitation of great male leaders. But other queens restrict themselves to "hunting" amongst their fellow Amazons. They know how politically risky it can be to hit on random outsiders.

"Lions also sleep all day. They miss out on a lot."

"Her name is Ulla."

"How can they give this beautiful woman such a rude name? Barbarians."

"Wild, untamed, free-spirited. Knowing no rules but nature's." Memnon laughs. "You're no different from my men. They gape at these women in the same way." He thinks it's just the allure of the exotic – something Memnon's seen bring a lot of men to grief. He knows the pitfalls of consorting with the natives when you don't know their customs and taboos.

"Only virgins gape. I appreciate. She's a living work of art."

"Ulla is also a Priestess."

"I've always had a way with witches."

"She's not a witch. They don't conjure or perform divination."

"Figures. Simple barbarians."

"Remember the great battle on Olak's hill?"

"My great victory? How could I not?"

"There was a line of tall women dressed in red standing behind enemy lines. They carried daggers for stabbing any man who retreated. Those were the priestesses."

"I thought those were their wives."

"No, the wives were back in the camp. They yelled at the men, and ridiculed them, and sometimes hit them over the head for losing, but they never kill them."

"Tough and graceful." Panthesilea smiles as she continues to stare.

"And a virgin."

"You mean she's never been with a man?"

"Or a woman."

"How do you know?"

"In these tribes, men and women aren't separated. So they don't do that sort of thing." This is Memnon's pet theory on orientation, based on more than a decade of living with soldiers and hunting Amazons.

"If you're right, all the better. I love a challenge." She starts walking towards Ulla.

"Wait. You can't go there. It's a Sacred Grove."

"Perfect. Do you know how often I've made women invoke the Gods?"

"All outsiders who enter the Sacred Grove must be sacrificed."

"That's not friendly. With a policy like that, no wonder they never get any action."

"The ground in the Grove vibrates."

Panthesilea looks closely. "No it doesn't."

"Exactly. They think it vibrates. So the people shake when they're inside. Except for the priestesses, who dance, because of their connection to the God and Goddess. If non-believers go in there, they reveal the whole thing's a sham. And the locals don't like that."

"That's okay," Penny says, leaning against a tree and watching Ulla dance. "I can wait. And observe." She tilts her head sideways as she watches Ulla's fluid motion.

"You don't think your new boyfriend, who happens to be Ulla's ruler, will mind?"

"I'll let him watch us." Alas, Groo is probably not the sort of guy who would get off on this.

"I'm glad I'll be gone by the time this blows up in your face," Memnon concludes as he walks away.

It is nighttime. Connor makes his way down an alley, quickly and quietly. Slower and louder, Dawn tries to keep up, though her crutches make this difficult. Connor turns around. "You coming?"

"In a sec. I'll be right, aiiigghh!," Dawn screams as she is attacked by two vampires. Dawn swings her left crutch, knocking one of them back, but the other one pushes her down to the ground. Connor knocks that vampire down with a right hook, and takes the other one down with a left roundhouse kick and a right hook kick. He then helps Dawn to her feet. But a vampire attacks Connor while his back is turned, pushing him face-first into the wall. The other vampire starts hitting Connor, preventing him from protecting Dawn. Balancing on her right foot, Dawn swings her crutch at that vampire's left knee. But this only slows him down for a moment, and soon he has his left hand around Dawn's neck as she gasps in fear. But then someone comes out of nowhere and knocks the vampire down with a leaping right kick. "Buffy?"

"You wish." The girl is two inches shorter than Dawn, with black hair, blue eyes and full, red lipsticked lips. She wears skin-tight black leather pants and a tight, low-cut, sleeveless red blouse. She rushes to Connor's rescue, grabbing the other vampire from behind and sending his head into the pavement with a suplex. When he gets up, she puts him back down with a left reverse kick to the chest. When the vampire that had been attacking Dawn goes after Connor, she cuts him off at the knees with a sweep kick, grabs the back of his shirt when his body is parallel to the ground, spins round and hurls him through the air. She reaches her right hand down to help Connor up. As she's doing this, the other vampire charges her from behind, but she puts him on his back with an effortless right reverse kick to the face. "Are you okay?"

"Uh-huh," Connor responds like a dazed damsel.

"Ready to show 'em how Slayers do it?"

"Uh-huh," Connor responds with a smile. He takes the vamp on their left, and she takes the one on the right. After landing a few blows, Connor looks to his right and becomes distracted by the Slayer, who punishes her opponent with scissor kicks, flip kicks, roundhouse punches and all varieties of impressively limber moves. He smiles goofily at her demonstration of prowess. The vampire he's fighting takes advantage of Connor's distraction by knocking him down with a right hook. The Slayer stakes her vamp and, once again, comes to Connor's aide. She leaps up, wraps her calves around his neck from behind, does a backwards hand spring and sends the vampire to the ground. He gets up and tries a right hook, which she ducks, putting the vampire in a full nelson. Now that the vampire is between Connor and the Slayer, Connor stakes him. The Slayer reaches her arms upwards to better show off her cleavage, pretending to be stretching.

"You ain't so bad for a boy," she says to him.

"You want me to be badder?"

"Maybe later," she says with a giggle. "The name's Candi." She grabs the stake out of his outstretched right hand.

"I'm Connor," he responds with stars in his eyes. Dawn feels as if she is physically shrinking to insignificance.

"So Connor. Ya in the mood for a hunt?"

"Always." Connor and Candi go racing off. Dawn fruitlessly tries to follow, but they quickly pass out of sight.

"Wait! Wait!!," Dawn pleads. "Connor, you forgot, umm, ughh, I can't remember. But you forgot something."

NEXT: Dawn and Xander; Dawn and Spike. Plus, Wes and Buffy try to figure out how to deal with the new Slayers - and with each other.


	6. Death and the City

Victor sits on a chair in the great hall Russell Winters's old mansion, which he shares with Louis, a fruit of their alliance with Wolfram & Hart. (Being a vampire with no living heirs, the property reverted to W&H after Angel pushed Russell out the window.) Vic appears to be deep in thought, his left hand on his chin, three fingers in a fist, his thumb along his jaw line, his index finger pointing upwards to his left temple. His back is turned away from a woman in her late twenties wearing high heels and a business suit, whose arms are shackled to the wall and whose mouth is taped shut. On the stereo is Toad the Wet Sprocket's "Hold Her Down." Louis enters, holding several photos in his hands.

"Okay," he says as he throws one to the floor. "Okay," he says before chucking another. "Not bad. Nice. Damn! A sista! I'm gonna have fun with her." He walks over to Victor and waves his right hand in front of Vic's face. "Whassup! Will ya quit the brooding? Stop tryin' to fit the mold, man. It's their mold, not ours."

"I'm pondering our situation."

"Does that mean you're done with her?"

"Hands off!" Lou backs away.

"Okay, okay," he says as he backs away from the prisoner. "But from my experience, good thing's don't come to those who wait." He thinks Vic doesn't really enjoy terrorizing his victims like this, but indulges in such behavior to build a rep for being cerebral and serious. "That reminds me – we should try the Ebony-Ivory scam again tonight."

"Do you realize that the vast majority of the world's vampire-slaying capability is currently concentrated in this city?"

"What can I say? We popular."

"This is an historic moment."

"So long as it doesn't make you and me history."

"It could put us on the map. Or ruin us."

"Like I said, we gotta stay alive. It's that simple. Stop trying to sound like that dude on NFL Films."

"Our soldiers are threatening to flee."

"Have you given them the low-down? The Queen Bee's in crutches. Two of the others are walking wounded."

"That leaves three."

"Three girls who've never been here, and who don't know the streets."

"Angel knows the streets. Give him and Connor three Slayers, and they could do some serious damage."

"Not gonna happen!," Lou retorts, bringing his right foot down to emphasize each word. "Ain't no way any Slayer's eva gonna work for a vampire. Or his mutant bastard."

Raymond Chesterton, Wesley's doctor friend from England, finishes looking at Buffy, Amanda and Fadila. "I wouldn't remove the cast until Monday at the earliest. It's important the bone sets properly."

"What was that shot you gave me?," Buffy asks.

"Parathyroid hormone. It should help the femur repair itself."

"So, that would speed up my recovery? To, like, Sunday?"

"I don't think four days is too long to wait for a compound fracture to heal. Even for a Slayer. Unless there's some emergency that urgently requires your attention."

"In my line of work, you never know," she jokes.

"Fadila, Amanda, the new bandages I gave should speed up healing. You'll probably be capable of fighting tomorrow night, but I'd wait until Sunday just to be safe. Actually, Fadila, considering that you have a partially punctured lung, I'd have you hold off until Monday. If you're struck in the wounded area before it's fully repaired, there is a risk of sepsis setting in. Rule of thumb: if it still hurts to breathe, rest. Amanda, if it hurts to run, that's a sign your hamstring's not quite ready. You're Slayers, but you're still human." He leaves. Wesley follows him out.

"I think he wanted to see a little more of us, if you know what I mean," Amanda whispers to Fadila.

"You think he's some pervert?," a shocked Fadila asks.

"No. I think he sees us as really cool science experiments that happen to walk and talk."

"We are oddities. I should be dead, given my injuries."

"But we're not circus freaks."

"Not yet," Fadila jokes. It's one thing to be a Slayer among fellow demon fighters. It's quite another to re-enter the wider world – the Real' world, as Ella liked to call it.

"What did you think?," Wes asks Raymond.

"I think I would like to compare Buffy to the new Slayers. There's always been a question as to how Slayers develop, whether their bodies get stronger over time. But I suppose they've been through enough."

"To put it mildly."

"We don't know if Slayers improve solely because of practice and experience, or if they physically become stronger over the years. And, if so, at what point do they peak, and when should they retire. It's important to know what you can demand from each of them."

"You talk of them like they're horses," Wes replies with mild disgust.

"I talk of them like they're soldiers. You ask too much of one, she dies. You require too little of another, and she becomes demoralized."

"I think I can determine those things on my own. But thank you for your medical assistance."

"My pleasure. And thank you for indulging my professional curiosity. Speaking of which, how are Connor and Angel?"

"Completely recovered."

"My. A week ago, both were crippled. Whatever did that to them, it is dead?"

"Very much so."

"Thank goodness."

"How would you compare Connor to Amanda and Fadila?"

"I knew the professional curiosity wasn't entirely one-sided."

"It is a unique confluence of circumstances," Wes concedes.

"Unprecedented. Twice over. And while the Slayers are remarkable, Connor is more-so."

"Really. How?"

"His resting pulse and breathing rate are about half theirs. His bone density is off-the-charts. This makes sense. Slayers are like stock cars – ordinary vehicles given racing engines and reinforced frames. Connor is like a Formula One car. He was different from the beginning."

"You think he's stronger than the Slayers?," Wesley asks, rather surprised.

"Certainly he's more durable, with greater defensive capacity. As for offensive attacking ability – which is what really matters – it's impossible for me to say. At rest, Slayers appear normal. Normal Olympic athletes, but well within the range of human ability, nonetheless. Their power is explosive and episodic, brought on by hormone surges."

"Chester, you actually believe Slayer Power is nothing more that teenage girls and their out-of-control hormones?," Wesley asks dubiously.

"I see nothing surprising in that. What reservoir of power would you have tapped into instead?"

Dawn walks into an unfamiliar kitchen, wearing an unfamiliar blue business suit. Sitting at the table is Xander in a suit and tie. He puts down the paper and stands up. "Morning darling!" He walks over and kisses her on the lips before heading to the counter to pour another cup of coffee. Dawn stands there stunned. She has a gold ring on her left ring finger. So does he.

"Are we married?"

"That's what the minister said," Xander jokes. "Is something wrong?"

"Uhhh, ummm, ah, I don't know." She looks at her finger and her clothes again. "Where's Buffy?"

"I'm not sure. Probably someplace exciting and dangerous and far away. There's always something she has to go deal with."

"Does Buffy know about, us?"

Xander chuckles. "She was your maid of honor. You have the wackiest sense of humor. One of the things I love about you."

"You're the one with the wacky sense of humor."

"I suppose these sorts of things rub off after a while." She sits down. He kisses her forehead and sits back down. "You shouldn't be so surprised. You did have that crush on me."

"When I was fourteen."

"Things come full circle. I certainly wasn't expecting it. But after you finished college, it just sort of happened."

"Things just sort of always happen. But this . . . this . . . it's just so - "

"Inevitable?"

"Excuse me?"

"We do have a lot in common. Normals who can't relate to other normals, or to their superpowered friends. We see things in each other that others can't."

"Yeah," she says in resignation.

"Off to work." He kisses her on the lips, puts on his jacket and walks out.

"But not this. Not yet, anyway," she concludes, finishing her earlier thought.

Elijah and Connor sit in chairs in the hospital hallway, trying to pass the time while Dawn's in surgery. Eli, who, naturally, is considerably more calm than Connor, reads "The Innovator's Dilemma."

"Eli?"

"Yeah Connor?"

"Your last name's Campbell."

"Yeah."

"But your father - I mean, your stepdad, signed his name Mueller' on the register. And your mom's name is Lattimore. I though people with last names had the last name's of their parents."

"Campbell was my dad's name. My brother and I, we just kept it after he died."

"So how come your mom has a different name?"

"She went back to her maiden name. When she married again, she didn't bother changing it yet again."

"Oh. So when Kit marries you, will she take your name, or keep her own?"

Elijah stares into space for a few seconds. "Was that your wacky sense of humor, or your even wackier sense of serious?"

"Don't you love her?"

"I really like her. Which sounds rankly juvenile but, love, that's heavy." He sighs. "Which also sounds rankly juvenile. Look Connor, the world's not a storybook. There's a lot of stuff between Their eyes meet'' and They lived happily ever after.' Also, there's never really a Happily Ever After. It's a way for the writer to end the story. Affection isn't asymptotal. It doesn't reach a peak and stay there for eternity."

"Why not?"

"Life's unpredictable. Nothing stays the same forever. Except, you dad. And, for a long while, your mom. I see why you're having trouble grasping this concept of irreversible change and decay."

"Bodies decay. Not feelings." Connor is definitely his mother's son.

"What does marriage have to do with feelings? See, now YOU'RE the one who's stunned into silence," Elijah jokes.

"Marriage is about eternal love."

Elijah laughs, until he realizes the possibly vampiric connotations of "eternal" love, and wonders if that has any atavistic influence on Connor's view of romance. "No, marriage is about property. You can be in love without getting married. You can get married without being in love. It's a legal mechanism for pooling property." Anya would love this kid. Connor doesn't know quite how to respond.

"But, the vows."

"For an eighteen year-old, you seem awfully invested in the sanctity of this institution."

"My dad, his friends, Dawn's sister, they don't take us seriously. If we got married, they would."

"After they got through yelling at the two of you until they lost their voices. Knowing Buffy, there would probably also be violence. You'd have the world's first Shotgun Divorce'," he jokes, trying to make light of what to him is a very twisted conversation. "Does Dawn know you've been thinking about these things? Probably not, since she doesn't look at you like you're crazy."

"Is that what you're doing?," Connor jokes.

"Sorry. I've never had this conversation. And I certainly hadn't planned on having it now. Dawn's not going to die. You do know that?"

"She doesn't make it, the doctor's going to be real sorry." Elijah notices the homicidal glint in Connor's eye, and wonders if it's normal to recognize your best friend's look as "homicidal," since that implies you're used to seeing it.

"So much for malpractice insurance," he quips.

"That's the first time you've given me the Look."

"What look?"

"The one everyone else always gives me. The Freak' look."

"I'd tend to label you more extraordinary than freakish."

"You talk to me like you talk to Carlos. Or Preston. Like I'm normal."

"I wouldn't call either of them normal."

"Come on, E. Ya know what I mean."

"I do. Kit's asked me about it, too. So you never had a childhood. Childhood's overrated. It didn't exist until two centuries ago. Most people in the world still don't have one. Now I know that I can't understand what you've been through. But no one can really completely understand anyone else. It's a matter of degree."

"I heard Clarence and Carlos say you hang with me cause you got no other friends." Equipped with super-hearing and living is a building with hundreds of teenagers and thin walls, Connor's become a gossip sponge.

"I suppose that's true," Elijah concedes with a chuckle. "When it comes to friends, I have always preyed on the socially weak. And you can't get more outcast than you."

Dawn enters what appears to be a large cave. She looks down at herself, and sees that she's wearing tight white leather pants and a midriff-baring dark blue t-shirt with a silver star on it. "Oh God. What now?," she asks with a wince. Spike comes up from below.

"Hello cutie!" Dawn starts backing away. "Cum on love. You weren't so shy last night. When Dawn gets near the entrance she feels her left hand get scorched.

"Ow!" She pulls it towards her and looks outside. It's sunny. She inches her right foot out of the shadows, and it sizzles. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Spike says with a smile as he walks over towards her. She puts her right index and middle fingers to her carotid artery, and feels nothing.

"Oh no." She looks at Spike with fear and dread.

"Relax pet. You're still one of the good guys." He takes her left hand and slowly leads her deeper into the rather well-furnished cave.

"Why aren't you still one of the dead guys?" She had seen him go up in flames the day before. That should have registered with her subconscious.

"Why are you walking?," he asks with a smirk, lightly kicking her intact right knee. "Of course, now you can do a lot more than just bloody walk. Go ahead. Try 'em out." Dawn leaps fifteen feet up and grabs onto a stalactite. She then crawls over to the wall and down the wall back to the floor.

"Whoa," she says with a smile. Dawn leaps over Spike's head. He turns to see her, but she has already dashed back to her original position, and taps him on the back. "Over here, slowpoke."

"I knew you'd like it."

"No, I don't," she stammers, knowing she should definitely not welcome this.

"Don't kid yourself, kid."

"I'm never going to grow up."

"You're already grown up. Take a look in the mirror. Okay, wrong choice of words."

"I'll never have a job, a life. I'll never feel the sun on my face."

"How much does anyone really appreciate that when they're human? It's overrated. All that sunburn and sweating."

"You did this to me!" She leaps at Spike and pounces on top of him.

"Not bad, huh? All that power." He pushes her off and stands up. She leaps ten feet forward at him. He hops to his right and she misses. "Like wearing a bloody jet pack on your back. I know: you didn't ask for this. Neither did I. So what? No one asks to be a Slayer. No one asks to be bloody born in the first place. It's all about playing the cards you're dealt. This whining about your fate, it's the old, long-departed you. That Dawny died even before this Dawny was born." Spike picks up a small stone and uses its edge to make a deep cut on the left side of his neck. Dawn goes bumpy, leans in, then stops herself and pulls back, feeling her fangs.

"You made me evil!," she screams.

"Bollocks," he calmy responds, lighting up a cigarette with his zippo. He tosses the lighter behind him and sets the bed on fire. Dawn stops, frozen, her right hand about to slap his face. Spike exhales, backs up a step and starts pacing back and forth. "You have a soul. You've never killed a human. Except for a few evil ones who deserved it. You've never fed off a person. You do hunt: chasing the deer across the hills at night. Not too long ago you bagged a mountain lion. But you're good. Like me. Except with nothing to feel guilty for. So you'll never grow old. Neither will any of the new Slayers. But you'll be here long after they're in the ground. You decided to be in the demon-fighting game, and you know the rules: you wanna play, then you better get yourself some powers. Unless you're a man. They can get by on strength, courage and intellect alone. The rules are different for girls. Don't know why, but they are." The fire dies down since the bed is mostly consumed, and Dawn finds that she can move again. "Considering the options, this wusn't a bad deal. Sure, you coulda kept at it with those visions. Until your head exploded, or you had to acquire demon power to keep your cranium in one piece. And that only leads to things even worse than premature death."

"Speaking of which, what the Hell am I doing with you?"

"I'm the one you used to daydream about. Your white-haired knight on a motorcycle."

"The last time we talked, I threatened to kill you."

"Is there a better way to turn me on?" Dawn pauses to think this through.

"That doesn't explain why I'd chose you."

"I can do better."

"You can do worse."

"This is disgusting. You're old enough to be my - "

"Older sister's boyfriend's younger brother? Buffy was dating Angel when she was your age."

"Why aren't you with her?," Dawn asks, trying to upset Spike.

"Why do you think every man prefers her to you?"

"You're not every man. You're Spike."

"And I'm yours." He puts his hands around her waist. She pushes him back.

"You don't deserve me."

Spike chuckles. "Quite the egotistical twist. Had you been planning that one? Now we know this really is a dream."

"More like a nightmare." An ax passes through Spike's neck. His head falls to the ground, followed by his body. They don't turn to dust. Standing behind Spike is Joyce, who holds the ax and looks very angry.

"You should have listened to me the first time."

"Mom!" Joyce drops the ax, steps over Spike and approaches Dawn. Her look changes from anger to tenderness.

"Honey I'm very worried about you. This Connor boy you've been spending time with, I think he's trouble. As much as we loathe each other, Darla and I both agree that it would be best if you put an end this relationship. We don't want to be grandmothers to the same grandchild. Please don't make the same mistake your sister did. You don't have to follow in her footsteps. Why would anyone want to, if they had a choice? Dawn, I love you, and I want you to be safe and happy."

"I can have both?"

"Yes! Of course you can have both, my little pumpkin belly."

Angel addresses the troops. "Sometime today, something, or some things, are going to try to kill. We're going to try to stop them. I'll won't be able to help out for a few hours. Until then, Wesley and Fred, you take everything north of Marina del Rey. Gunn and Cordy, take everything south. Lorne's working the local demon grapevine, and once Connor gets back, we'll - "

"Angel?," Fred meekly says. Like Gunn and Wes, she looks worried. "You said Cordy." Angel pauses, realizes she's right, and appears embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. She's been with me from the very beginning. To not have her here - "

"I know," Wesley sympathizes. "We all miss her."

"I wonder how New York's treating her."

"She's gonna call, right?," Fred asks.

"I'm sure she's been busy," Angel responds. "Meeting new people, finding an apartment, making new friends."

Cordelia sits in a lecture hall. Most people are standing up and leaving. A few head up front to have their books signed by the short blonde woman who had been speaking. As that line starts to thin out, Cordy stands up, takes a deep breath, and summons the courage to meet the author. When her fans have all dispersed, she turns to get her coat and leave.

"Carrie Bradshaw?" The woman turns and sees a tall brunette.

"Yes?"

"I'm a big fan of your book. And your columns. I read them every chance I had, even though sometimes it was hard to find your paper in Los Angeles."

"Thank you," she replies dismissively. Cordy climbs up on stage.

"I, myself, have had a fairly eventful, and occasionally bizarre, dating life. In fact, I think the life of a single gal in LA is even more complicated than in Manhattan."

"It depends," she responds casually, turning to leave. Cordy, never one to be shy, steps boldly in her path.

"In fact, I was wondering if I could tell you about about it. Over a few cosmos. My treat."

"Sorry. I have to, umm, I have something."

"How bout we make a bet. If my dating experiences aren't stranger and more bizarre than yours, I'll buy you two pairs of Manolos." Cordy smiles. Carrie decides to think about this.

"Blaniks?"

"What else is there?" They both laugh.

"Two pair. That's a cool thousand. Either you're filthy rich, or you have one helluva story to tell."

"Either way, you win."

Carrie ponders this for a few seconds. The brunette doesn't look like a stalker, or a violent criminal. "There's a place a few blocks from here." Cordy smiles as they walk out.


	7. Take what you want

While Angel grapples with the difficulties of working with Anya - especially since she technically doesn't even work for him, Buffy grapples with the difficulties of living under the same roof with Connor.

Earlier in the afternoon, before Wes, Gunn and Fred went out to search for the demon in Dawn's visions, Charles returned from Santa Barbara with Anya and Xander. Anya, wearing a cast on her lower left leg, uses crutches. Xander has a cast on his right arm that extends from his shoulder to his fingers. Wes and Fred come out into the center of the lobby to greet them. "Is there anything we can help with?," a sympathetic Fred inquires.

"No thanks," Xander responds with a smile. Fred smiles back. "We didn't come with our stuff."

"Would you like to sit down?"

"My legs aren't the problem."

"Mine are," Anya points out, though Fred is largely ignoring her. "But sitting down means having to stand up, which is more difficult than just staying up."

"No point exerting all that energy simply to get back where you started," Wesley says sympathetically. Fred touches Xander's prosthetic left hand with her right hand, and puts her left hand on the cast on his right arm.

"Look ma, no hands," he jokes. Fred finds it very brave of Xander to keep his sense of humor after such an ordeal.

"You did stand up to the two most powerful entities on the planet and live to tell about it." Fred offers. "How many people can say that?" Wesley glares at he. He stood up to the Beast. And to Mal, both of who could have given Seth and Nina a run for their money.

"I started off by standing up to them. I ended up on my knees, screaming, of course." Brave, funny, and self-deprecating.

"Let me help you to your room," Wes suggests to Anya.

"I get my own room! Finally, enduring unspeakable horrors is starting to pay off. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to share a bathroom with ten teenage girls? Actually, I hope you don't," she jokes to Wesley. "Elevators! How convenient." She looks around the lobby. "By the way, what's your current occupancy rate?" Wes and Anya get in one elevator. Xander and Fred get in the other.

Dawn wakes up after surgery and opens her eyes. It takes a few seconds for them to focus. Predictably, the first thing she sees is Connor. "Hello lover," she weakly says with a smile, preempting his usual greeting.

"His obsession is really beginning to creep me out," Kit says to Elijah.

"First you don't trust Connor because you think he'll be distant and might become unfaithful. Now you don't trust him because he's not distant enough."

"I trust him as much as I can trust someone I barely know, and someone Dawn barely knows. Literally, not metaphysically," she adds, anticipating Eli's comeback. "Don't give me this soul mates bullshit." Elijah stares at Kit with this wondrous and goofy half-grin on his face. "What?"

"I never knew cynicism could sound so sexy." She punches him in the shoulder.

"Stop trying to change the subject."

"I'm not. Connor's this wide-eyed dreamer who's looking for love and salvation and can't see the difference between them. Dawn makes him happy, and he makes her happy. You're afraid to get hurt, but don't like being alone. I make you happy, and you make me happy. That's all that matters. That's all anyone can expect."

"I am not afraid to get hurt," Kit grouses, folding her arms.

"You're afraid to be happy, which is the same thing."

"You just claimed that you made me happy."

"I do. But you'll never admit it."

"Get over yourself."

"I'm the same way. Thats why I dig you. Happiness is vapid and soulless and uninspiring. Happy people make my teeth hurt." Kit looks baffled. "I'm sure that last part makes sense on some level. Or, maybe not."

"Dawn's let Connor carry her off a cliff because he convinced her he can fly. I hate to think about how she'll be after the inevitable crash."

"The laws of gravity don't apply to relationships."

"Wanna bet?"

"Okay. Say you're right. How will we end?" Kit thinks that's a stupid question.

"Simple. You're going to college. I'm still in high school."

"Are we that much of a cliche?," he asks as they stand up and start walking towards where Dawn and Connor are.

"Deep down, everyone's a cliche."

"So much for individuality."

"I like to think we each become a cliche in our own unique way."

"One can always hope."

"Nothing," Wes reports to Angel at dusk.

"Zilch," Gunn confirms.

"Nada," Fred adds.

"That'll be two thousand, two hundred and fifty four dollars," Anya tells a family of five checking out twenty five feet from where Angel and his friends are standing.

"Is Anya gouging our guests?," Angel asks with alarm.

"Yes, we do take Discover," Anya tells the mother with a smile.

"We take credit cards?," Angel asks his friends.

"Lorne brought in a scanning machine on Monday," Fred reports.

"Thank you. Have a nice day," Anya says as they leave. Angel rushes over to her.

"First of all, what are you doing out of bed? Don't you have a broken leg and a severe stab wound?"

"Do you let injuries get in the way of your job? Just as there is no length you won't go to in order to save nubile, wide-eyed, virginal damsel, there is nothing short of death and/or dismemberment that can keep me from making money. For you. Though I do expect a cut at least equal to that of your partners." Angel takes a few seconds to recover from this rant. Anya's like a hyper-materialist Cordy on speed.

"Second, why are you extorting my guests?" Anya rolls her eyes.

"Go back to Cuba, Fidel. It's called free enterprise."

"Six nights. Two thousand dollars?"

"Do you know how much a two-room hotel suite goes for in this city?"

"We're not a hotel! We don't have room service. Or maid service."

"But you do have free kitchen and laundering facilities. Plus a free bar and cabaret. As well as a community center."

"Community center? It's just a big room in the basement where the teenagers hang out."

"Did you see our customers complaining? We start with a base of one hundred dollars for a room. Which is very generous. Suites start at 150. Plus fifty for each additional occupant over the age of twelve. Then you add the state sales tax, plus the local hospitality tax, which you were apparently thinking of evading entirely."

"These people are victims of a natural disaster."

"And they can stay at the government shelters for free if they want to. No one is forcing them to come here."

"Ah'm not really comfortable charging more than two hundred a night," Fred offers.

"According to our current partnership, even if we include Anya in the profit-sharing from this transaction, we each stand to make more than three hundred dollars from this transaction alone," Wesley reports.

Gunn smiles. "Keep up the good work," he tells Anya. "We're gonna get back to doing the life-saving thing." Gunn and Wes walk towards the office. Fred hesitates, then joins them.

"This is my hotel. What I say goes," Angel tells Anya, glaring down at her.

"You want me to refund the money, I can call up the credit card company and do it. But like I said, the people who paid this bill didn't complain." Angel ponders this for a few seconds, then reluctantly leaves, having failed to admonish Anya.

"This isn't good," he tells his friends, returning to demon-fighting.

"I for one think it's good that nobody's been attacked," Fred argues.

"They have. We just haven't noticed."

"The sun's about to set," Gunn reminds Angel. "You can get out there track the bad guys down."

"Me and Connor. Is he back yet?," Angel asks with mild annoyance.

"He should be," Fred replies. She opens the door. "Oh, look. There's Eli." She waves to her fellow nerd, who smiles and waves back. "And speak of the Devil. There's Connor." She gets nervous as Angel walks by her out into the lobby. "Not that I was comparing Connor to the . . . it's just a figure of speech," she adds defensively.

"Have you visited her?," Xander asks Buffy in her hotel room.

"I didn't want to go alone. I mean, without you. It would be - "

"Too hard. I got a feeling that's how everything's going to feel for a while."

"The service for Giles is tomorrow. Stella's handling everything. She's pretty broken up." Buffy wipes a tear from her right eye. "I don't know how I'm gonna look her in the face."

"Why?"

"Why? You know why. She probably blames me."

"That's crazy. Is this what you've been doing for the past day? Feeling guilty and blaming yourself?"

"Who else should I blame?"

"How about Nina? Or the First Evil?"

"Dawn."

"No, I definitely wouldn't blame her."

"Her surgery should have ended an hour ago. She's probably here by now."

Connor stays with Dawn as she uses her crutches to go down each step. "I'm okay, Connor," she assures him, a little annoyed by his doting. The cast on Dawn's right leg extends from six inches below her hips down to three inches above her ankle.

"Now we can get to work," Connor announces. Angel's glad that his son realizes that he's an important member of the team. "Dawn's finally here." Angel and his friends all look a tad confused.

"Welcome to the Hyperion," Anya says as if Dawn's just another customer. "Would you like to hear our very reasonable rates?" Dawn looks surly. "Of course you don't! Still, might I suggest your own room in addition to his? Sometimes it's fun to have variety. Like when Xander and I did it in the living room or the kitchen." Now Angel looks surly. The elevator door opens.

"Buffy!," Dawn exclaims, looking happy to see her sister again. They hop on their respective crutches towards one another. Anya takes out hers and joins them.

"Look. We're all lame!" The sisters don't appreciate the gesture. Anya goes back behind the desk. "That's what I get for trying to empathize," she mutters under her breath.

"How long's that on for?," Dawn asks Buffy.

"Three days. And you?"

"Three months."

"At least you'll be safe." Buffy swings her right crutch backwards into Xander's chest, but can't make contact because of the mystical barrier.

"Cool!," Dawn replies with a smile. "How'd you pull that off?," she asks Connor.

"I didn't. Angel did." Buffy and Dawn look at Angel. He looks nervous. This isn't the sort of thing you want to reveal to Buffy.

"Oh!," Buffy realizes. "Those Furious Sluts." Angel's shocked to find out that she knows.

"The Transuding Furies," Wesley corrects.

"With Spike," Dawn recalls. Then she glances at Connor and realizes he probably does not want to hear about his father and Spike having an orgy with three demigods. "The, the trials of strength and bravery the Furies put them through."

"Spike?," Fred asks. "Oh." She looks worried, and a tad disgusted.

"How's the work on my vision going?," Dawn asks.

"We've followed several leads, researched possible suspects, reconnaitored the area - " Wesley rambles.

"We've got nothing," Gunn concedes.

"I can draw you a picture of the thing."

"Lorne thinks he knows what it is," Fred explains.

"Good. I'm pretty woozy, so I probably wouldn't be much help."

"Connor," Angel calls out as his son walks away with Dawn towards the elevator. "We need to talk about working on finding this sea monster. You know, hunting," he says, trying to appeal to his son by speaking his language. "And saving lives."

"I'll be down in a couple." He steps into the elevator, and the door closes. To his right his Dawn. To her right is Buffy. Connor hadn't noticed her. This is an awkward situation for both of them. Dawn anxiously looks left and right, fearing that she'll get figuratively torn in half. "You were, you were umm, you were very brave yesterday," Connor finally offers. "That's what the, umm, the new Slayers told me. And very heroic."

"Oh. Thanks," Buffy mutters. She can't think of any reason to return the compliment. The door opens on the third floor.

"This is your floor?," Dawn asks. Buffy had pushed four. "I'll be right up in a sec," Dawn promises Buffy.

"No. I should probably see your new digs. So that I know where to find you," Buffy adds ruefully. The three of them step out into the hallway. Buffy keeps up with Connor, but Dawn trails behind.

"Let me help," Connor says, putting his right arm under her knees and picking her up.

"Stop! Put me down. Connor, I can take care of myself." He does as told.

"Sorry. Just trying to help." Buffy duly notes Connor's overbearing ways, and how they annoy Dawn. She's not so much trying to take Dawn away from Connor as she is trying to keep Connor from taking Dawn away from her, since that's what Buffy believes his ultimate goal is. They head down the hall and open the door. "Home sweet home," Connor announces. Buffy peaks her head in.

"It's a little small," Buffy comments.

"I put my clothes in the drawers," Connor explains to Dawn. "There weren't many, but I thought you should have the whole closet for your stuff." Buffy enters and takes a look around.

"It's a little messy. The bathroom could use some cleaning up." Dawn realizes Buffy not just trying to play the part of mom. She's trying to turn into mom. "That's a nice tv. Did Angel buy that for you?"

"No. Umm, it's mine."

"How'd you afford it?"

"I work."

"Patrolling. Hunting."

"Yeah."

"Same here. But I never seem to pick up any expensive merchandise."

"Buffy I'll, I'll talk to you in minute. I just wanna speak to Connor real quick before he goes off on that job with Angel. Then we can, have dinner, or hang out, or whatever you want." Dawn takes a deep breath. It's tough enough to play ambassador between these two on a normal day, let alone right after major surgery.

"Sure. I'll be right outside." She glares at Connor and leaves. Connor glares back. The door closes.

"I'm not a zebra!," Dawn yells, apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"The two of you are fighting over me like two lions over a zebra carcass. It's really insulting."

"I didn't touch her."

"Well, you're still fighting."

"She started it."

"Oh, grow up!"

"Like that whole thing about the tv. And this place not being clean."

"She's worried about me moving in with a boy. Especially one who doesn't like her and tried to kill her."

"I said I was sorry about that."

"I'm sixteen."

"Seventeen in five days."

"You remembered my birthday," she responds with a smile before getting serious again. "She's dealing with a lot. Giles dying. Willow in a coma. Be nice. And please don't gloat because I'm with you instead of her." Dawn falls on the bed and breathes a sigh of relief, putting down the crutches and resting her tired shoulders. "Because I will hit you with these things," she threatens, taking the bottom end of one crutch in her hand.

"It's wood. With padding. How could that hurt?," he asks, walking towards her on the right side of the bed. She swings it up towards his crotch. He pulls his legs together and winces.

"You had to ask," she replies with a smile. He backs up to the far end of the bed.

"Whadya think?"

"It could use a woman's touch. Or, mine," she adds jokingly, hiding her anxiety about shacking up, which Connor clearly sees as quasi-matrimonial. Connor lies on the bed to Dawn's left.

"You need anything? Food, or -?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"Are you in pain?"

"No. The local hasn't worn off yet."

"How bout your stomach?"

"That doesn't hurt. As long as nobody touches it," she warns as he slowly lifts up her shirt to have a look.

"You want some soup?"

"Connor, I'm fine," she says sternly. Then Dawn chuckles. "I thought I'd be the one taking care of you."

"So did I. Not that I want you to, or that I can't take care of myself."

"It's clear you can."

"But I've been pretty messed up."

"Because of Mal."

"And Angelus before that. It's been kind of quiet this week."

"Knock on wood."

"Huh? Oh." He vaguely understands the phrase. "Is there anything you wanna watch?"

"Connor!"

"Just trying to - "

"Help. I know. Right now I just wanna be able to wiggle my toes again. Which is something you can't help me with."

"It is?" He takes off her right shoe and her sock.

"Ahhh. That's actually better. My foot can breathe again. I just can't move it."

"Is it still numb?" He tickles the sole of her foot.

"A little. I can feel that. Stop it."

"It tickles?"

"No. Just feels kinda scratchy." He wiggles her big toe. She giggles.

"Can you feel this?," he asks before leaning down to suck her toe.

"Yes!," she replies with a laugh. Buffy opens the door, walks in and immediately cringes and averts her gaze. "Buffy?" Connor stands up.

"Sorry. You said a minute. It's been three. And Angel said he wanted Connor downstairs." Connor immediately leaves. Buffy takes two hops to her right so they don't cross paths. Both of them avoid eye contact, and strain not to scowl or show any other sign of overt hostility. Buffy closes the door.

"Sorry about that," Dawn meekly confesses. "He was seeing if I could - "

"Don't. Please don't."

"He's really trying to be nice. Or, at least civil."

"Look. I more-than-vaguely recall mom being uncomfortable around more than one of my boyfriends."

"More than one?"

"She never quite warmed up to Riley. God!," Buffy exclaims with a laugh. "What do you think mom would have said about you and Connor?"

"What do you think she would have said about you and Spike?"

"That's not fair."

"Why not?"

"I never paraded Spike around, or got all smoochy-feely with him in front of others. Except that one time, and that was because of Willow's love spell."

"It's not like I haven't thought about it. Sure, she freak. For a little while. But I think mom and Connor would have really gotten along great. If she didn't know about his parents, and only knew him as a person." Buffy just stares at her sister. "I'm serious!"

"I know you are. That's what worries me."

Panthesilea talks to Ulla as the sun sets. They both smile. Penny puts a flower in Ulla's hair, then moves her right hand down Ulla's left arm, playfully gripping Ulla's index finger between her thumb and index finger before letting go. Ulla walks off with the other priestesses. Panthesilea jogs towards Groo's tent. He stands outside, having watched Penny carry on with Ulla. "How's my god-king doing today?," Panthesilea asks with a note of condescension. Panthesilea is one of the few people who can make "god-king" sound condescending.

"Your appetites — for killing and conquest — are like a man's." Penny calmy stares at Groo for a few seconds, then pulls out a dagger. He's not scared.

"In your world, do only men have ambition?," she asks, jabbing the point into his chest and causing Groo to back up. "Do only men seek greatness? I've heard this my whole life. Usually from male prisoners I've taken in battle. Right before I sell them into slavery. I don't kill and love like a man. I kill and I love better than a man. And for that, men are jealous of me." She puts away the knife and places her hands on Groo's chest. "But you. So mighty, and strong, and noble. I would think you were above jealousy." She backs up a step, sucks in her cheeks and grins in that sallow, malevolent, yet seductive way Spike sometimes does. Groo tries to sort through her proto-feminist rhetoric about double standards. He's certainly known strong women. But none as self-centered as Panthesilea. She seems to live by Faith's pre-homicidal philosophy of "Want-Take," except she enjoys stature and influence Faith couldn't even dream of.

"You have such immense power. Why not use it to help people?"

"I do," she replies insouciantly. "I help my tribe. I help my allies. I help bring bloody justice to this forsaken bloody planet, as Spike used to say. He taught me the importance of helping people." Groo interprets "bloody justice" not as an English turn-of-phrase, but as a literal description of how she brings "justice."

"Did not Angel teach you anything?"

"Sure! Angel taught me that girls like guys with muscles and shiny clothes who feel sorry for themselves." She's still Spike's girl. "You seem to have two out of three," Penny says with a grin as she pushes Groo into his tent. To him, she looks more predatory than amorous. "Your clothes aren't too shiny." Groo tries to figure out if she views him as an Angel substitute. He's not about to go down that road again.

"You were drawn to Angel?" She backs up, thinks this over and laughs.

"Not even. But I am drawn to you." Groo smiles. He appreciates that she's the first woman he's slept with who finds him hotter than Angel. Penny puts her hands on his shoulders, then squeezes his biceps. "He has the body of an athlete. You have the body of a warrior. You know what it's like to hunt your dinner, make your own fire and sleep under the stars. Like me." She kisses him. After a few seconds, Groo moves his head back.

"But you do not love me."

"I'll love your daughter." She slowly takes Groo's right hand in her left, intertwining her fingers with his. Suddenly, she puts her right arm under his shoulder and abruptly throws him onto the bed. She does a back flip and lands on her knees, which straddle his hips. She's trying to remind him that he's an extremely lucky man who shouldn't be asking questions or harboring doubts right now. Groo takes a deep breath. He's beginning to understand this. "Isn't that enough?" Penny takes off her belt, sword, dagger, crown, earrings, necklace, bracelets, and finally her dress.

"No. But this is," he replies as he gazes up at her. She smiles and rips open his shirt.

"You ruined my only shirt?"

"You're a king, Groo. You can get more. As for me," she says as she slowly lowers her body on top of his, "I'm one of a kind."

"That, I will not argue with."


	8. Out of the past, Into the sea

Hiding in the sewer at 5:30 in the afternoon is Trepkos, a reddish demon with arcing bony ridges on his forehead and skull that terminate between his eyes. He calmy listens to the sounds of pedestrians on the sidewalk above, especially the feet touching the manhole cover above him. Trepkos leaps up and quickly slides the cover to the side. Less than two seconds later, a woman in her late twenties who is talking to a friend on her cell phone falls through the hole. Her phone drops in the standing water. Trepkos catches her, covers her mouth and carries the terrified woman away.

Shortly after the sun sets, Angel, Connor, Gunn, Wes and Fred head walk down the Venice Beach pier past the colonnade. "Dawn said Santa Monica," Connor reminds his dad.

"She was guessing. We're travelling north. We'll pass by there soon."

"I'm going ahead."

"Connor."

"If I see anything, I can run back and get you." Connor leaps onto the beach and races off.

Cribb, a green lizard demon with a gray ridge above his eyes, waited until dark. The earlier he acted, the longer he'd have to spend with a whining, crying human. A strip mall seemed ideal. Everyone's alone, no one's concerned about anyone else. A man steps out of a red sedan. Cribb sticks out his tongue and catches the keys. Before the man can spot his attacker, Cribb knocks him out with a right hook. He opens the driver's door, drops the man in the front passenger's seat, takes the driver's seat himself and is off.

"If Connor's gonna work with us, ya gotta teach him to follow orders," Gunn says to Angel.

"He's new. He'll learn the value of teamwork soon enough."

"Probably only after lone wolfing it gets him beat within an inch of his life," Fred pessimistically predicts.

"Or, after he misses a great kill because he abandoned us," Angel responds optimistically.

Fulk jogs down the street in sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt. The hood conceals his gray head, which has black spots on top. A car pulls into a driveway. Fulk leaps over the fence and lands in the front yard. He takes a bottle out of his muffler and sprinkles a clear liquid on a cloth. A man, a woman and an eight year-old boy step out of the car. Fulk hides under the vehicle. He grabs the boy's right leg, pulls him down and puts the ether-soaked rag to his mouth. The startled parents turn around. To them, it looks like the boy has vanished. Fulk crawls out from under the car and walks around to come at them from behind. He holds out his hands, each of which has three fingers and a thumb. His palms and the undersides of his fingers are green. Six green blades shoot three inches out from his fingertips. The husband and wife turn around when they hear the noise. Fulk plunges his right hand into the father's stomach, and slashes the mother's throat with his left hand. Once they fall to the ground, the blades flip back around and become flexible at the joints so he can use his fingers. Fulk puts the boy in the trunk and drives off.

A few hours later, the gang's hanging around on the Santa Monica pier. Connor stands apart from the group, looking out at the ocean. "We checked from Newport to Malibu," Gunn reports. "Nothing."

"Well, a purse-snatching near King Harbor and a pickpocket at Hermosa, but nothin' even close to what we're looking for," Fred adds.

"Though Charles and I did manage to kill a vampire near Marina del Rey," Wesley notes. "However, I doubt he had anything to do with the present matter."

Connor rushes over from the edge of the pier. "I smell blood," he tells Angel. Everyone follows Connor to where he was standing. The breeze blowing off of the sea makes it an easy scent to pick up.

"Let's go," Angel announces. He and Connor dive forty feet down into the surf. Several onlookers gasp.

"I ain't going in that way," Gunn quips.

"We need our weapons," Wes announces. They sprint off the pier towards their car. Those they race past turn their heads and wonder what's going on.

The water's only ten feet deep where Angel and Connor splash down, and they both collide with the rocks on the bottom before floating up to the surface. "Dad," Connor says as they bob in the surf. "I can't swim. Is that a problem?"

"Can you hold your breath?"

"Yeah."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem. Get on my back."

"What?"

"Climb on! I'll swim for both of us." Connor reluctantly climbs on, and Angel forges ahead through the waves. The blood is oozing from about twenty feet in front of and thirty feet to the right of where they landed. Angel swims underwater while Connor keeps his head dry, except when he's splashed by a wave. He's never been in the ocean, and the salt stinging his eyes is most unwelcome. Angel can hear a low humming. It's the three demons, doing a sort of wordless underwater summoning chant. As he gets close, Angel can hear the kicking of limbs, presumably the as yet to be slaughtered sacrificial victims. Fulk has already slit the boy's throat underwater, and is letting the blood drain. The other two victims scream underwater. Angel goes directly for the woman. In the darkness, he can see neither the demon he's attacking nor the person he's saving, but he can hear her cries and Trepkos's chanting. He punches Trepkos in the mouth and grabs the woman, taking her to the surface. Without Angel, Connor sinks, but he grabs the man's legs, trying to pull him down away from Cribb. With his strength, Connor yanks all three of them under. Cribb sticks out his tongue and wraps it around the man's right arm. He hits Connor in the face, who responds with ineffectual kicks. Blind and woefully out of his element, Connor hangs tight to the man's legs while wrapping his legs around the lizard demon's chest. The force of the waves pushes them towards shore. The gills to either side of his nose give Cribb a major advantage underwater. But he can't fight Connor too well while still keeping hold of his sacrifice, and Connor, who is also holding onto him, is too strong to be dislodged. The sacrifice must be alive, so drowning both humans isn't an option.

Wes, Gunn and Fred race to the water's edge. Wesley has a shotgun resting on his right shoulder. Gunn has an ax; Fred a crossbow and sword. She looks at the crossbow, which seems woefully inadequate to the task. "Where's a harpoon gun when you need one?"

"Forget that. Where's our scuba gear?," Gunn jokes. This causes Wesley imagine Fred in a wetsuit, which is an unwelcome and distracting thought at this particular moment.

"Where are they?," Wes asks.

"Ain't gonna find out if we stay here," Fred responds, leaping into the surf and quickly swimming out, slicing through the waves. Gunn and Wes, though impressed, don't emulate her. They wade out towards the fight, Wesley making sure to keep his gun above the water.

Connor's back slams into one of the slippery wooden columns holding up the pier. Temporarily letting go of his sacrifice, Cribb pulls the gasping Connor's head up out of the water and slams it into another column. Feeling more comfortable in the shallower water, Connor responds with a right hook. Cribb doesn't know why the human didn't go unconscious. He grabs Connor by the neck and pulls him under, hoping to weaken him enough by lack of oxygen to be able to snap his neck. Fred turns left and makes her way to the scene. She notices a man desperately trying to keep his head above water. His arms are tied behind his back, making this difficult. Fred grabs hold of the man, puts her right arm across his chest and props his head up while trying to navigate the waves and the columns as she makes her way back to shore. Gunn and Wes rush over and drag him to the sand. "I think he's swallowed water," Fred tells them.

"Where did you learn to swim like that?," Gunn asks.

"Swam varsity for two years in high school. Mostly long distance."

"You're drenched," Wes notices, not without pleasure. "We'll have to get you out of those soaked clothes."

"Maybe later. I have to go find find Angel." Fred leaps back into the water.

"What about the sea monster?," a concerned Wesley asks after recovering from Fred's response. The man's coughing, which means he's not dead, which means they can devote themselves to fighting. Once they find what they are fighting, that is.

Trepkos and Angel wail on each other underwater, each oblivious to the identity of his opponent. Unlike Angel, Trepkos must breathe, so he must return to the surface. Angel abandons him and continues his search for whatever is bleeding. He finds the boy, and can feel that he's dead. He hears someone swimming nearby. Having taken his first victim, and unable to find his compatriots, Fulk takes hold of the woman, who is kicking her legs to keep her mouth and nose above water. The demon drags her down and releases one of his finger-knives. But before he can slit the woman's throat, Angel grabs her with both arms and swims away. Fulk immediately gives chase and stabs Angel in the back, pulling the wound four inches upward before Angel knocks him away with a left elbow to the nose. They start to grapple as the sacrifice drifts away. Fred can hear her screaming, and makes her roundabout way out towards the victim. Fulk is more concerned with catching his sacrifice than fighting Angel, who keeps him away from his prize. A frustrated Fulk finally stabs Angel in the stomach with the three fingers on his left hand and swims for shore. Trepkos has already done the same.

"You again," he says to Wesley.

"Ya'al know each other?," Gunn asks. "That's cool. I'm gonna see if anyone needs my help." He assumes that Wes can handle a demon he's on speaking terms with.

"I take it that this time, you're not here to help," Trepkos tells Wes.

"Feeding humans to a Bago. Isn't that a little beneath you?"

"It was Cribb's idea. Anything to keep Mal off our backs."

"Mal is dead."

"Who killed him?"

"Angel."

"Fat chance." Wes cocks his shotgun, but Trepkos is quick, and he knocks it out of Wesley's hands and hits Wes in the jaw with a right hook before he can fire. But Angel blindsides Trepkos with a left hook, sending the demon to the ground.

Once ashore, Fulk hones in on Fred and the man and woman she saved. Fred sees his six finger-knives, and reaches for her sword, which isn't there. It must have fallen out in the water. "Hey Freddie Kreuger!," Gunn yells, causing the demon to turn to his left. "Nice blades. A little small," he taunts, brandishing an ax. Fulk lunges for Gunn and slashes with his right hand. Gunn backs away. He swings with his left for Gunn's throat. He ducks. Fulk stabs with his right hand for Gunn's stomach. Charles dodges to his left, spins round and buries the ax deep into Fulk's skull. "Guess size really does matter."

Only now that they are out of the water do Angel and Trepkos recognize each other. Trepkos laughs. "You wanted a rematch?"

"I really should have killed you when I had the chance."

"What a coincidence! I feel the same way." They charge one another and exchange punches. Angel knocks the demon down with a left cross and a right hook. Trepkos returns the favor with a left jab and a right uppercut.

"Where's Connor?," Fred asks Gunn. Realizing he's not needed against Trepkos, Wes rejoins the two of them. Decidedly out of his element, Connor is having the worst of it in the water. Though strong enough to keep from getting drowned or having his neck snapped, Connor can't prevent getting tossed into wooden columns while underwater, or slammed down into the rocks. He devotes his energy to trying to break free from Cribb so he can make his way to dry land. Angel's friends see Connor when he stands up in water only three feet high. Gunn and Wes rush over to help, while Fred makes sure the two people she saved are all right.

Cribb blocks Connor's right hook and knocks him down into the water with a right hook of his own. He picks Connor up by his shirt and looks at the boy who won't die like a good little human. "Now what the hell do we have here?" Connor spits salt water in his eyes. Cribb has a film that protects his eyes when under water. But since he's above water, the film hadn't been deployed, and the salt stings. He lets go of Connor, who quickly lands a left hook and a right uppercut, staggering the demon. Cribb leaps at Connor, getting on top of him and holding Connor's head under water. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Gunn and his ax coming from the left, and stands up, putting his right foot on Connor's chest to hold him underwater.

"Bet you ain't as stubborn as this boy," he tells Gunn, optimistic that he can kill this latest attacker.

"You won't get a chance to find out." Connor finally pulls Cribb's leg loose, and he falls down. The lizard demon quickly swims to his right to gain time and space. He stands up on wet sand, where the waves wash over his feet. Before him is an exhausted Connor, an ax-wielding Gunn, and a shotgun-toting Wes.

"Buddy!," he says to Wes before sticking out his tongue and wrapping it around the barrel of his shotgun. He yanks it away, just as he took Wesley's key. Problem is, Wes has his finger on the trigger. When Cribb pulls the gun forward, Wesley's right index finger pushes the trigger back. As Cribb pulls the gun towards himself, it goes off, blowing apart his head.

"He should have learned some new tricks," Wes quips. The sound of the gun is heard by many above them on the pier, and the gasps are audible down on the beach where they are fighting. Connor falls on his hands and knees, coughing.

"I hate being underwater."

"I'm sure your dad felt the same way," Fred responds. Connor glares before falling on his back. He doesn't appreciate criticism, however deserved, when he's hurt. Gunn starts to go over to help Angel. But Wes holds him back.

"I think Angel wants to do this one himself."

"Who is that guy?"

"It's like our first fight never ended," Trepkos says to Angel as they batter one another.

"It's about to," Angel replies, going bumpy and landing a right hook kick and a left cross. Trepkos attacks, but Angel hurls him to the sand. "And this time, I'm playing by different rules." The demon kicks Angel in the chest. Angel responds with a left roundhouse kick to his head. He catches Strepkov's right fist in his left palm and lands three straight right jabs. Strepkov connects with a left hook, but Angel answers with two of his own. The demon looks woozy and winded. Angel seizes the opportunity and leaps on top of him, choking Strepkov before snapping his neck. Looking up in his final seconds of life, the demon could see that this was a very different Angel. He returns to his human face and walks over to join the others. "You okay, Connor?," he asks with concern.

"Water bad," Connor replies, lying on his back and gasping. The bruised Angel sits down next to him.

"You freed these guys?," Gunn asks after hearing the back story from Wesley.

"And myself. It was sort of a package deal."

"You saved the lives of a bunch of evil demons?"

"By breaking up a Wolfram & Hart racket. They weren't the good guys. But they weren't the bad guys in that situation either."

"Having worn an electronic collar myself, I don't know why they didn't mystically equip those bracelets with some sorta self-destruct mechanism if anyone ever tried to remove 'em." Wes and Angel glare at her. "Ah'm jus' sayin', it's an oversight Wolfram & Hart had the means to remedy. Sometimes I wonder if the bad guys are stupid, or just lazy." Todd Rungren's "Bang on a Drum all Day" starts playing.

"Oh no," Wesley comments. "The death knell."

"What death knell?," Angel asks. "We saved the people." He thinks for a second. "Not all of them, though. There was a child's body out there. It was dead before we hit the water."

"The blood," Connor recalls.

"It's going to draw the Bago," Angel notes with concern.

"We have to get these people away from the water," Wesley announces. He and Gunn each carry one of them to safety. They're still suffering from their ordeal, which included several hours of captivity followed by near drowning. They lay the two of them down on benches and return to the shore. Wes reloads his shotgun. Fred picks up her crossbow. Angel and Connor stand up. Angel calls for broad swords. Fred brings them over. Angel wades out into the water. He can smell the body, which has washed up under the pier. This limits the monster's range of movement and gives them a chance to hem it in.

"Whadya say we lure this puppy onto dry land?," Connor suggests.

"It might know better," Angel replies.

"Who are we protecting this thing from killing?," Fred asks. "Not that I'm against monster-killing for the sake of monster-killing."

"It will feed again somewhere else," Wes responds. "As long as it roams the seas, people will die so it can be fed."

"Yeah. That's a given. But say it stays offshore. Are we supposed to swim out after this man-eating monster and take it on — in the dark — where it's strongest and we're weakest?"

"The Powers wouldn't have shown it to me if they didn't want me to kill it," Angel declares.

"They showed it to Dawn," Connor corrects him.

"For my benefit."

"Benefit. So you're glad she's here?," Connor asks with a smile. Angel realized he walked into that backhanded Dawn endorsement. As the bouncy song blares out of the speakers above, a large, shadowy form emerges from the water and devours the boy in three quick bites. Angel gulps.

"I heard that," Fred reports.

"Heard what?," Angel asks defensively.

"I heard it too," Connor adds. He agrees with Fred and Gunn that they served their purpose and shouldn't take needless risks, especially when he and Angel are already injured. After ingesting its meal, the Bago disappears as quickly as it appeared. Angel steps out into four feet of water. Connor stays fifteen feet back, in three feet of water. The other three stay on the beach. Angel can hear the monster zigzagging towards him. He holds still until the last moment. Angel then turns and leaps away as the monster's massive jaws emerge from the water. Connor freezes and thinks of running. Wesley realizes what Angel's up to, and aims and fires. He puts dozens of pellets in the left side of the monster's body, just below its head. The injury prevents it from making a second lunge as Angel's feet hit the ground. He continues back for a few steps, until he's even with Connor. They stand in silence for a few seconds. Then the Bago scurries towards them on its four stumpy limbs at astonishing speed. The slim, eight foot-long muscular creature's jaws open two feet wide, and it emits a deafening honking sound. The speed, noise and teeth scare even Angel, who moves back and to his left. Connor dodges right. The monster heads after Angel, but not before whipping its powerful tail and taking Connor down before he could stab the Bago. Angel swings defensively, lodging his sword in the beast's lower jaw. It swings for him with its claws, and he quickly backs away. Gunn tosses his ax into its back. None of the injuries seem to slow it down. The Bago turns and attacks Gunn, Wes and Fred in a fury. But Connor steps in the way, leans down and drives his sword up through the Bago's brain. To do this, he had to place his head into the beast's big mouth. Wes, Fred and Gunn stare at Connor as he calmy limps away.

"Nothing I haven't done before."

Victor and five other white vampires stroll into an after-hours party in the heart of Watts. "Whassup, my homies!," Vic yells, doing his best clueless whigger impression. The place goes dead silent. Everyone turns around to look. Vic can hear a few guns getting cocked. "Damn, this is just like a movie!" The other five vampires look around nervously.

"Dude, I think we should leave," one of them says to Vic.

"Naw my nizzle! It's a public shizdig. Ain't like we needed to be invited or nothin'." Some murmuring on the other side of the club turns to screaming. "And neither did they. Peace, out!" As bodies start to fall and people panic, Victor's vamps slip out the front, while Lewis's slip out the back. The two quintets disperse in opposite directions. Vic and Lou climb on top a two story building across the street from the sight of the party. They gleefully watch people stream out, some running for safety, others looking for the culprits.

"Tell me again why we did this?," Vic asks Lou.

"We need reasons?"

"Why this place?"

"It's a gang thing."

"I thought we had them all locked up?"

"Only the three majors. There's all sorts of other groups. Most are just jokers. But a few make some serious green. Including the one we got tonight."

"And what makes you think they'll fall in line instead of fight?"

"Because they didn't spot us. Nothing scarier than an invisible killer."

"Toying with the normals, playing marionette, it's fun and all. But when do we go after the big game? Tangle with those Slayers."

"When we're ready."

"Oh, I'm ready," Victor boasts.

"Be cool. You know we can't take 'em on alone."

Connor steps out of the shower and crawls into bed next to Dawn. He stares at her face for a few seconds, running his right hand through her hair. Then he kisses her forehead. She opens her eyes. "You're back."

"You saved two people tonight."

"No. You did. You and Angel. And the others."

"Because of your vision."

"You killed the giant big-toothed weasel?"

"Yup. Put a sword through its brain."

"Are you hurt?"

"Not too bad." Dawn reaches her left hand out and touches his ribs. Connor flinches. Then she reaches touches his face. She can feel a bruise on his forehead.

"Feels bad to me."

"Coulda been worse. Angel got stabbed."

"Yeah, well, it probably hurts a lot less when your insides are dead." Dawn puts her hand on his heart, which starts racing. Connor smiles.

"I'm not too hurt for that." He kisses Dawn on the lips, then on the neck as he puts his left hand on her stomach.

"Connor, I am." She pushes him away. He looks disappointed. "Besides, we have to get up early tomorrow for the funeral."

"The funeral. I forgot about that. What do you wear to those?"

"Suit and tie."

"Oh," Connor replies distressingly. "Guess it's too late to shop."

"We'll figure something out." She puts her left hand on his cheek and smiles. "I'm glad we're here together."

"Me too."

"Big surprise there."

"What's that mean."

"Nothing. Just that, you're, transparent. Emotionally. It's sweet. Especially when you're happy. Which you usually are when I'm around. Sorry to steal your line. Like I said - "

"Aren't you happy?"

Dawn thinks about this. "Happier than I'd be if you weren't here. But you know what would make me even happier?"

"If your knee wasn't broken?"

"Yes. But, also, if you were nice to Buffy. And unlike my knee, you can do something about that."

"Maybe she could be nicer to me," Connor gripes. Dawn yanks at a couple of his chest hairs. "Ow!"

"If you two insist on making me choose one of you, I'll choose neither. You get along, or you get lost."

"But . . . this is where I live."

"Or I'll get lost."

"What if I'm nice to Buffy, but she's still mean to me?"

"Connor, go to sleep."

"But - "

"Good night."

NEXT: Connor and Kate start talking, which can't be good if you're Angel. And Lindsey returns.


	9. Turning Heads

Over in Scyra, in the city of Spikeopolous, Kreon and Myrina lie on a bed with their new born baby. "Isn't he precious?," Myrina coos.

"It's amazing to watch you create life, and to know that I could be part of something so wonderful. Hiero says it's even better the second time around."

"Not on your life," Myrina replies with a scowl. She's still recovering from an excruciating labor.

"We wouldn't want our son to be all alone."

"You want another one? Carry it yourself." Kreon takes the second hint and drops the subject.

"What should we name him?"

"How bout your father's name?"

"Demetrius? That's a good, strong name."

"I meant your other father."

"Spike? It's not a proper name. Maybe it is in his world - "

"I meant William."

"Oh." Kreon smiles. "I like it."

"Hey little William." The baby smiles. "See. He likes it already." The baby reaches his right arm up and wraps his tiny hand tightly around Kreon's left index finger.

"What a grip! I bet he's gonna grow up to be a great fighter."

"Or a peace maker. We do need more of those. Especially with the revolt. Which you seem oddly unworried about."

"It was going to happen sooner or later. Personally, I'm glad it's so widespread. Like Spike said, better to take on all your enemies at once."

"Your sister said the same thing."

"There you go."

"But Hiero's not so sure."

"He just likes to brood about the costs. The thoughtful warrior.' You know where he got that from. What a bollocks." Kreon uses Spike's slang rather indiscriminately and improperly.

"Don't use that kind of language around our son. I don't want little William's first words to be bloody hell."

Kreon laughs. "Why not? It would be so cute!"

Wesley, in a dark suit, walks down the hall with Fred and opens Connor's door to wake Dawn up for the funeral. They're both still sleeping. Dawn has her right arm around Connor "Aww. Don't they look adorable?," Fred asks Wes.

"No. It's unnatural."

"How can you say that?"

"Given the history of her sister and his father, how could I not?"

"That ain't their fault."

"True, though it hardly makes it any easier to accept this as normal or proper."

"Were Buffy and Angel normal and proper?" Wesley sighs. Connor hears the two of them talking and opens his eyes. They close the door and leave. Connor takes Dawn's right hand in his left hand, and rubs his right hand up and down her left forearm as he lies on his back. Dawn awakes and yawns. Then she shoots up into a sitting position.

"We missed the alarm! Are we late?"

Connor crawls behind Dawn and looks at the digital clock to Dawn's right. "Is 7:32 late?"

"Not too late."

"Good." He wraps his arms around her chest and pulls her down on top of him. She laughs for a few seconds.

"But too late for any of that." She pries Connor's arms away, sits back up and puts her left foot on the floor. "I need to go take a bath."

"Sounds like fun."

"Alone," she replies, turning around to look at Connor. He pouts. "Get your mind out your pants. We're going to a funeral."

"Sorry."

Dawn laughs and shakes her head. "You always do that."

"Do what?"

"Agree with me."

"You want me to disagree?"

"I want you to . . . forget it." She wants him to learn and grow and become more emotionally mature, but that's a lot to get into at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning. "I want you to get breakfast. After you get dressed."

"Well, duh," he responds in jest. "I didn't fall into this world yesterday."

Anya knocks open Xander's door with one of her crutches, hops on in, and knocks it closed. Xander sits on his bed, wearing pants and a shirt, neither of which is buttoned. "I thought you could use a little help."

"Just because I don't have the use of either hand?," Xander responds, trying to sound darkly comic.

"I should take a saw to the end of that cast. Your fingers aren't broken. Why should they remain useless?"

"Because my wrist has to be immobilized, since rotating it risks re-breaking the two bones in my forearm."

"You should still be able to grab stuff." She balls her fingers together, then opens her palm. "That doesn't use the wrist."

"I think I'll try to get it a little scaled back on Monday. Most of the people they treat for multiple fractures aren't already missing a hand."

"Until then, I guess I'll have to dress you. Now stand up." Xander does this and looks away in shame as she buttons his shirt and pulls up and zips his pants. "Don't be so dramatic. I've taken your clothes off plenty of times. It's the exact same process, only in reverse."

"And to think, we're the lucky ones," Xander sighs in despair.

"We may be, inconvenienced. But, I guess, that's part of life. That's maybe the essence of life. You can't be inconvenienced or uncomfortable or in pain when your dead. Giles isn't - " She stops. A tear rolls down from the corner of her right eye. Xander instinctively reaches his left hand out to dry it. Of course, it's now an artificial hand. And feeling the plastic against her skin only makes Anya cry more. She buries her head in Xander's chest. He puts his arms around her. That, he can still do.

Angel walks into Buffy's room while she's buttoning her blouse. He averts his eyes. "Sorry."

"Oh for God sakes," Buffy groans. "You think that if we see each other in the most partial state of undress, we won't be able to control our actions?"

Angel is taken aback by her harsh response. "I was just trying to be polite," he meekly offers.

"I didn't mean to bite your head off. It's not you. Well, not only you. Lately I've had my fill of men who think they're irresistible."

"When did I make that assumption?"

Buffy scoffs. "When did you not?"

"I didn't come here to talk about us. Right now, I imagined that would be the last thing on your mind." Buffy sits down on the end of the bed.

"And your mind?"

"I miss Giles nearly as much as you. I miss Faith - "

"Probably more than me. Not that I don't . . . losing a Slayer is like losing a part of myself. I felt that way when Kendra died. I and I feel it even more with Faith."

"There was no one else on Earth who understood what it was like to be a Slayer."

"It's like losing a sister. A wayward sister who occasionally tried to sabotage my life."

"I've lost people who were close to me. Including one who chose to die in my place. If you want to talk about it - "

"I heard about Doyle. He had the visions my sister gets now."

"Doyle certainly can't be held responsible for that."

"No. There's only one person I hold responsible for that."

"I know my son hurt you. To be fair, he hurt me even worse."

"Something else I can hold against him," she adds half-jokingly.

"He's not evil. Just confused."

"Funny. That's exactly what Spike said." This gives Angel pause. "And that was after Connor tried to kill him. Several times."

"Spike was always impressed by persistence."

"It's not that I hate him. Not at this particular moment, at least. I just worry about what he's capable of. And, more to the point, I wonder why he's going to the funeral. He knows this isn't a date, doesn't he?"

"Connor wants to pay his respects to Faith. She did save his life."

"The boy finally learned to respect a Slayer."

"He respects you. If he doesn't like you, it's not your fault. It's mine."

"No. We didn't get along even before we knew each other's back story. That's enough talk about him for this month."

"I love you both. And it's upsetting to know that one of you can cause the other one pain."

"How come you're up so early?," Buffy asks, eager to change the subject. "You're beginning to make this Creature of the Night thing seem like a myth."

"I want to take care of the people checking out early. In case Anya wanted to gouge a few more before heading out."

"Is she working for you?," Buffy asks with concern.

"She seems to think so. Even though I never hired her."

"Where there's money to be made - "

"No one else seems to mind. Long as they're getting a cut of the windfall. I shudder to think what could happen if she ever got her hands on the agency's books."

"At least she's found something constructive to do with her time."

"Squeezing pennies from homeless refugees isn't constructive."

"It's not as bad as what she used to do."

Connor returns to his room holding three bags. "I got scrambled eggs, French toast, pancakes, bacon, sausage and hash browns."

"And for me?," Dawn asks.

"Blueberry pancakes with strawberry syrup, and a chocolate milkshake."

Dawn smiles. "You remembered our last meal together," before he returned to Sunnydale nearly a month ago. "Of course you did. You're such a sweetie." She dips her left index finger in the syrup and puts it in Connor's mouth. He playfully moves his head forward and doesn't let go as she pulls her hand back. The formerly groggy Connor has definitely perked up. "Hungry?" He smiles. "All that food should take you about five minutes to eat. I might look away for part of it. You're still, well, let's just say you're not quite ready for polite company." He takes about half the omelette in his left hand and shoves it into his mouth. "I know it's cause growing up you didn't have utensils and you had to eat quick while keeping and eye out for monsters. I guess it might take a while to soften you up."

"Not completely, I hope."

"I think that's impossible. Thankfully."

"This is nice. The two of us. Just hanging."

"Yeah. I'm really lucky. Going through all this without you would so much harder. Speaking of . . . this, what are you wearing? It think your dad's clothes would be way too big."

"I think I'll go borrow some stuff from Eli."

"You didn't ask him already? He's probably still asleep."

"Then I'll wake him."

"That'll go well," Dawn says with a sigh.

"A funeral?," Eli asks, in boxer shorts and a Rage Against The Machine t-shirt. He opens the closet. His parents stay in bed and try to get back to sleep. "Who died? Oh. Right. Everyone who's not wearing a cast. Let's see what I got." His hair's standing up and he's got more stubble than Connor's ever seen him with. "Blue or white?"

"What?"

"Your shirt. Is it blue or white?"

"Black."

"Interesting. And the pants? You do have pants that aren't jeans?"

"Yeah. They're black."

"Taking after your father, I see." Connor scowls. He doesn't view this as a compliment. "How about this one?" He holds out a gray tie.

"Sure."

"Let me guess: since you lack a tie, you also don't have a jacket. I don't think we're the same size." Connor's two inches taller. "But this should fit, more or less." He takes out a black blazer.

"Thanks. You're a real friend."

"As opposed to a fake one?," Elijah jokes. "You know how to tie this?" He pauses for two seconds. "Of course you don't." Eli puts it around his own neck, ties it loosely, then hands it to Connor. "That should make you presentable. Now please try to forget that I'm capable of waking up at this hour on a weekend." Connor smiles and leaves.

"Your friend seems nice," Elijah's mom offers. "But, odd."

"That's Connor." Nice, odd, and occasionally quite brutal.

Connor comes down the stairs towards the lobby, where Dawn's waiting with Xander and Anya. Dawn sees Connor all dressed up, and is pleasantly surprised. "Oh my God! Hello G.Q. You look good."

"Don't I always?," he impishly asks.

"Spiffy good. Not, grungy good." The elevator door opens. Buffy hops out.

"There you are," she says to Dawn with a sigh of relief. She glances at Connor. Buffy thinks he looks like a mobster in his black pants, black shirt, black jacket and slate gray tie.

"How was your night?," Dawns asks.

"Restful," Buffy replies with a shrug.

"Mine too," Dawn responds. Buffy wasn't about to ask how her night had been, given that it had been with Connor, but she finds this particular answer reassuring in the sense that it isn't cringe-inducing, which is how Buffy views her sister's relationship with Connor in general. Wesley walks back inside with Fadila, Ariella and Amanda.

"Has anyone seen Rona and Madari?," he asks.

"Rona said she overslept," Buffy reports. "She told me she'd be down soon." Angel steps out from the office.

"Did you approve of my entries in the ledger?," Anya eagerly asks.

"Yeah. They were, fine."

"I also entered them into a spreadsheet program on your computer."

"That's good. I guess."

"You'll have to forgive Angel," Wes says to Anya. "He couldn't tell the difference between Excel and Powerpoint." She laughs. Xander eyes Wes suspiciously. Angel notices his son and smiles.

"Connor! You're, all dressed up. Where did you, um, get those clothes?" Naturally he suspects theft.

"Eli gave 'em to me."

"Oh. No wonder the jacket's a little short in the arms. Did you do the tie?"

"No. He did."

"It is a little tight. The knot's a bit small. Let me fix that." He stands in front of Connor, unties it and reties it. "There you go. Perfect." Angel flashes a glowing smile and pats Connor on his left shoulder. "Chip off the old block."

"You have that look."

"What look?"

"The special' look. Is this a bonding thing?" Just then, everyone's startled by two loud thuds. Rona and Madari jumped down into the atrium from the second floor balcony.

"Sorry," Madari meekly offers the shocked onlookers.

"We were running late," Rona adds.

It's a inappropriately sunny day in Sunnydale. The eleven person contingent from Los Angeles makes up about a third of the mourners. Buffy's surprised by how many adults around Sunnydale Giles knew and she didn't. But there are a few familiar faces. Lindsey, looking both dapper and devastated. Kate, in a black pantsuit. Claude Marcel, whom she met that one time. Next to him is his eighteen year-old daughter Annette. She is tall, a full six inches above Buffy, with short, light brown hair and bright green eyes. Around her neck hangs a golden crucifix with Jesus carved on the front. After the minister's invocation, the four coffins are lowered into the ground amidst the ruins. Andrew would be honored to know he's being buried with the others. Claude walks over to Faith's and Kennedy's graves and pours something from a silver urn. He joins the others in a nearby tent. Buffy, who had been standing near Giles's grave, hops over and looks down into Faith's. "It's red ochre," Anya explains. "Usually connected with goddess worship. Supposed to have mild magical properties. Not sure why he'd pour it on them. Probably not anything sinister," she offers casually. Inside the tent, Claude is talking with Lindsey about Faith, and Annette chats with Estella and Vincente about Rupert Giles.

"What were you doing back there?," Buffy asks Claude, politely but suspiciously.

"It's a very old tradition, meant to put the Slayer's soul at peace."

"You mean, so they don't come back?," Buffy asks, a little wigged by the fact that he might consider this a possibility.

"Originally, that was probably the reason. Sometimes, the community would seek to resurrect the Slayer, because the monsters didn't disappear when she did." He pauses. "I mean no offense. Your situation was completely different. If the locals were successful, the Slayer would be brought back as a zombie, unlike you," he adds defensively. "The ochre prevented this abomination. Eventually, it became simply a sign of respect. A recognition of identity. Like a flag on a soldier's coffin, I suppose."

"Oh," Buffy replies to his too-thorough answer. "Really not glad I asked that." She sees Kate and hops over. Meanwhile, Connor talks with Dawn about Giles.

"He was nice to me. Even when everyone else wasn't. He gave me a chance. He just seemed to want to help people, not use them or take advantage of them."

"I remember when he used to babysit me."

"Me too," Annette says. Connor and Dawn turn and look at her. She's two inches taller than Dawn, and almost as tall as Connor.

"And you are?," Dawn asks with confusion and mild condescension.

"Annette Marcel. Claude's daughter." She holds out her right hand and smiles. Dawn hesitates before shaking it. She doesn't know why, but something about this girl rubs her the wrong way.

"Dawn Summers." Annette looks intrigued.

"Buffy's sister. The Key."

"Formerly. You've heard about me, or, it?," she asks. The Key reference is a tad dehumanizing. And Dawn thinks Annette's carrying herself like she thinks she's better than Dawn.

"My father believed that killing you would open the Hellmouth." Slightly less horrible than all dimensions merging into one, but equally catastrophic.

"So he was anti-killing me. Cool," Dawn responds glibly.

"And who is your silent companion?"

"I'm Connor." Annette's jaw drops and she smiles, looking him over from head-to-toe with astonishment.

"My deepest apologies. I imagined you clothed in leopard skin, like Hercules," she jokes. Dawn found that an intriguing fantasy, though not one this girl should be having.

"He's my boyfriend."

"Lover," Connor bashfully adds. Dawn smiles. Annette looks bemused.

"Just what your mother would say. How did you two meet? Probably not through your parents."

"You seem to know a lot about us," Dawn states suspiciously.

"I read. I listen. All part of getting to know the family business."

"Business?"

"Being a Watcher."

"You're a Watcher-in-Training?," Dawn asks nervously.

"Watchers without Slayers. That's how it's been in my family. We slay the vampires ourselves."

"Really," Connor remarks with a small grin. "You've slayed?"

"Thirty eight vampires. So far."

"I don't count mine. But, thirty eight. That's a lot. Do you hunt with your father?"

"I used to. But I've been working on my own for the past few months."

"Wow. That's, that's risky. For someone who's not . . . you know."

"Those of us who can't overpower them outsmart them. Lull the vampire into a false sense of security."

"How? By letting them bite you?," Dawn asks incredulously.

"Luckily, it's never come to that." She holds out her crucifix. "Thanks to Him."

"I don't know how tough vampires are in France, but around here they can rip those off pretty easily," Dawn replies.

Annette giggles. "I meant the protection of the Lord." She points upwards. "Not His mere talisman. Faith is more than crosses and holy water."

"You're religious?," Dawn asks. That would seem to lessen the chances she'd become a Slut Bomb and move in on Connor.

"Unlike my father. Or Rupere. Or Wesley. In fact, I'm the one who got my father thinking that you had to live for the world to continue."

"Yeah. About that. My death would have closed the uber-portal to all the other dimensions. I was going to — before Buffy jumped."

"That could have opened another portal."

"And you base that belief on what, exactly?"

"You were made by monks. Christian holy men. I reminded my father that Christians don't believe in human sacrifice to ward off evil spirits. Therefore, you weren't made to be destroyed." Dawn finds it creepy to hear a logical proof of her right to exist, especially one so casual and nonchalant.

"So your dad knows how special she is?," Connor asks, putting his right arm around Dawn's waist.

"As special as me, or anyone else. But not as special as you." She smiles at Connor and glances over her shoulder at him after she turns around and starts walking over to Wesley, who nervously keeps to himself, since he knows hardly any of Rupert's friends very well.

"Bonjour, Pricey," she says, smiling and biting her lower lip. Pricey is her father's demeaning nickname for Wes, though it's always sounded more adorable than demeaning coming from her lips.

Meanwhile, Dawn stares daggers at the proud and pouty new arrival, whom she is beginning to view the way Buffy always viewed Cordelia. "She seemed nice," Connor offers, to Dawn's dismay.

"Maybe to you. But still condescending." Annette gave the impression she saw Connor as some sort of Noble Savage.

"We should work with her." Dawn's head darts left to look at Connor with shock.

"What?"

"She's a Watcher."

"She's training to be a Watcher."

"So she fights and reads, like you. Maybe you two could hang out." Dawn quietly groans.

"Annette!," Wes exclaims. "My goodness. How you've grown."

"My goodness, how you've shaved," she replies in jest. "Papa said you were overgrown with whiskers."

"I thought I should look presentable today."

"Your hair's much shorter. I like it."

"Yours too. I like it as well." The last time he saw "Annie," when she was twelve, her hair went down nearly to her waist.

"It's easier for fighting."

"I suppose it would be. I still can't believe your father lets you patrol on your own."

"I'm a big girl."

"That . . . umm . . . that you definitely are." Since he knew her as a child, Wesley's beginning to feel a little like a dirty old man. Back then, she had a "sweet" schoolgirl crush on him. God forbid she still did, now that she's old enough to attempt to act on it. "Will you excuse me one moment? I'm going to go check on the Slayers." He turns around. She grabs his right wrist. He spins back to look at her nervously.

"How are they handling it?"

"They grieve for Giles, and Faith, and Kennedy. The only thing I can do is give them time to recover psychologically."

"I meant the transformation. It's never happened like this: five girls, at once, who all know what they are from the start. If I were them, I'd be, I don't know, bouncing off buildings, going wild. It's only human to test limits, and their limits are, well, not very limiting." Wesley hadn't imagined a repeat of Buffy's and Faith's "fun" period, but in a major city instead of a small town.

"They're still grieving."

"They're not nuns, Wesley," Annette replies with a giggle at his naivete. "They're warriors. What do warriors do to forget about the horrors of battle?"

"I wouldn't quite compare them to a bunch of sailors on shore leave," he responds in a low voice. He finds it odd discussing these girls in such a theoretical, impersonal way, especially when they are only forty five feet away.

"Papa says Slayers torn from family and friends can be very dangerous to themselves, and others." Wesley ponders this. The only Slayer he knows of who ever fit that description was Faith. Okay, point taken.

"For a man who's never worked with a Slayer, your father seems to have an awful lot of opinions about how to watch over them," he replies evasively.

"You know papa. He has opinions on everything," she replies with a smile, just to show she doesn't mean to sound confrontational.

As Lindsey talks with fellow lawyer Vincente, his sister Estella converses with Kate, whom she's gotten to know real well since the earthquake. "It's a good turnout," Kate offers. "Especially for an off-limits disaster area you have to cross military checkpoints to get into."

"Rupert would be proud. Of course, he'd be proud simply because we're able to stand here today, unmolested by unspeakable creatures. He would talk about death. About how this time it was different. But I didn't, I didn't expect - "

"No one ever does." They stand in silence for a few seconds. "Is he here for Faith?," Kate asks, pointing at Wesley.

"And Rupert. They used to work together here."

"In Sunnydale?"

"During the Mayoral crisis," her euphemism for the Ascension when talking to the uninitiated. Kate has a relatively open mind, but Stella's not about to subject her to the notion of a politician turning into a giant snake. "Do you know him?"

"We crossed paths back in LA." So Wesley would know Buffy. Did that mean Buffy knew of Angel through Wesley? Remember, Kate's still completely in the dark about Angel having lived in Sunnydale. She decides to pay him a friendly visit. On the way over, she sees Buffy, who's talking to Dawn and trying to ignore Connor's presence.

"Kate!," Buffy says, recognizing a familiar and friendly face.

"Good to see you again, Buffy. Too bad it has to be under these circumstances."

"Tell me about it."

"How are you holding up?"

"On one leg," Buffy jokes. "I'm dealing, or whatever I'm supposed to be doing."

"These can be tough times. I remember when my father was killed. It took a long time for me to accept the loss. Or to forgive myself for letting it happen. If you want to talk later on - "

"Sure. Okay. That would be nice."

"Is this the beautiful, brilliant sister you told me about?"

"You said those things about me?," Dawn asks with pleasant surprise.

"I know I would," Connor offers, trying as always to upstage Buffy.

"This is Dawn," Buffy says to Kate.

"Nice to meet you," Dawn offers. "This is my boyfriend Connor." Connor's blue eyes meet the blue eyes of a woman who knew his parents all to well, and also not well enough.

"Hi," Connor says. He seems like a nice, peaceful boy. Definitely not a trouble maker. Of course, Kate has a habit of misreading people.

"Nice to meet you both. I'm going to go make the rounds," Kate tells Buffy before leaving.

"She seemed nice," Connor concluded, for once agreeing with Buffy.

Wesley is surprised to see Kate approach. "It's been a while."

"You were paler the last time I saw you," Wesley responds, referring to when he was interrogated after she had been bitten.

"Speaking of Angel, how is he? Staying out of trouble, I hope."

"Certainly not causing any as of late, if that's what you're asking," he replies with a weak laugh. Connor's ears perk up when he sees the blonde stranger utter the name of his father.

"Has the Darla situation been finally put under control?" Now Connor's ears are burning.

"You might say that," Wes responds cagily. He spots Connor looking their way, and braces for the collision.


	10. Killing Them Softly

Kate learns the truth about Connor. Mal tries to bargain his way out of Hell. And Angel and friends learn that Lindsey's not the only singing lawyer in town.

"Just in case Angel asks, I'm doing fine," Kate tells Wes.

"I'll be sure to pass that along." Even though Wes anticipated it, Connor's arrival comes suddenly, thanks to his usual speed and stealth.

"You know my parents?"

Kate turns to her right and sees Connor. "I'm sorry?"

"Angel and Darla. You know them."

"Uhhh, yeah. I guess I did. Not very well. Why are you asking?" Wesley takes two steps back and gets in position to see her face when she hears the news.

"They're my parents."

Kate laughs. "I, I don't understand." Lindsey looks at them, guesses at what might be transpiring, and discreetly makes his way over.

"Angel's my dad. Darla's my mom." Kate looks dumbstruck.

"I'm sorry?" Wesley realizes this could go on forever, and elects to reenter the conversation.

"Did you know my mother when she was human?"

"Yes. I met Darla. Why do you keep calling her your mother?"

"She gave birth to me. Sort of. What was she like?" Devious, murderous, blood-thirsty: where was Kate to begin? Oh, right. That whole thing about her giving birth.

"May I talk to you for one second?," Wes politely asks Kate, nudging her away from Connor, who doesn't understand why this woman won't give him a few desperately desired scraps of information about his human mother.

"Is this supposed to be someone's idea of a very sick joke?," Kate wonders, not at all amused.

"That would depend on how you look at it. But don't blame Connor. He's only being literal."

"Whatever's going on, it's in extremely poor taste. At a funeral, of all places."

"Can we go for a walk?"

"Why? So you can lead me into some other practical joke?"

"Connor is no laughing matter." And Wesley has the scar to prove it. "I'm sorry he approached you like that, but it's his way."

Connor sulks back over to Dawn. "Is something wrong?"

"That woman won't talk to me."

"Maybe if you were more polite, she would," Buffy offers. Wesley finally coaxes Kate outside of Connor's earshot and tells the story as quickly and calmy as possible, leaving out certain uncomfortable details like how Holtz obtained Connor.

"Did he sleep with her before or after the massacres?"

"Which one?" Kate sighs and shakes her head.

"Why doesn't this surprise me?"

"That's a very good question. I don't see how it couldn't."

"Of course Angel slept with her. He was clearly coming unhinged."

"You sound almost, jealous," he notes with raised eyebrows.

She scoffs at this notion. "Oh no. That's the last thing I'd want to do with him. Okay maybe not the last. Be we were, I was, our relationship, if you could call it that, was way past those sorts of feelings. Come to think of it, we were past that after the first time we met," when she invited him back to her place and he demurred. Wesley finds her rapid-fire protests to be quite defensive.

"I'm surprised that's the aspect you're fixated on."

She punches him in the shoulder. Wes flinches. "I am not fixated! It just happens to be the only part I can understand. Miracle births, time travel, alternate dimensions. It's all too Star Trek. Crime, killing, acts of passion, those I can understand. I come across them every day. Vampires and demons are just extreme versions of human depravity. This apocalyptic-messianic stuff is, beyond my realm."

"Says the paranormal police officer as she stands amidst the ruins of a city seated atop a now-dormant Hellmouth." Kate slowly starts to chuckle.

"Point taken." She pauses to consider ramifications. "If Buffy's sister is dating Angel's son, does that mean Buffy and Angel know each other?" Wes endeavors to keep a straight face.

Before Lindsey reaches Kate, he is intercepted by the five new Slayers. "We're sorry," Rona offers.

"We miss her too," Amanda adds.

"That's nice of you to say," Lindsey responds.

"She died a hero," Fadila assures him.

"Granted, Angel would be a hell of an improvement over that last vampire she was putting in time with, but I care about Buffy too much to wish Angel on her. He's just not a relationship guy. I'd hate to see her fall for him and get disappointed." Wesley nods, keeps his mouth shut, and lets Kate ramble on.

"If you want someone to talk to - " Ariella suggests.

"Or a shoulder to cry on," Madari adds. Rona and Amanda look away from Lindsey, since looking at him while imagining physical intimacy, no matter how minor, would cause them to smile.

"We could certainly use someone to talk to," Fadila notes. "It was pretty horrific."

"Honestly, we feel guilty that it was her and Giles instead of us," Rona confesses.

"I can't imagine what you all have been through," Lindsey responds. "But thanks for your kind words. They mean a lot." The girls stand there, looking at Lindsey with appropriately glum expressions. They all want to hug him, as a sign of condolence. But each of them knows it would be inappropriate, since it would make them feel too good for this sad occasion.

"I think it's very wise the way you've turned down interview requests," Anya says to Stella. "Better to appear more interested in your constituents than in your own fame."

"I am more interested in serving my constituents," Stella replies.

"Now that's the sort of sound bite the voters love to hear."

"The city I run is in ruins," Stella reminds Anya, pointing out that there are things more important than popularity.

"But the people want to return."

"Most of them, yes."

"And I heard that Washington is giving you billions to rebuild."

"1.2 billion. Which, with the private insurance money, should be enough to get things going."

"And once people begin to notice the lower death rate, on account of the Hellmouth closing, property values will skyrocket."

"Maybe in ten years, this town will be better than it ever was."

"By which point you'll already be governor, and probably planning your presidential campaign."

"We seem to be failing to communicate."

"Come on, Mayor. You've heard the poll numbers. You'd win the recall election by a mile. And unlike Arnold, you've actually killed real monsters."

"I would have to be incredibly craven to leave my community at a time like this."

"So I shouldn't raise money for the Draft Santos' web site?"

"You're a fundraiser?"

"Not yet. But I love the idea of convincing people to give me money in exchange for nothing. It sounds like a fantasy. I won't believe it's possible until I've actually done it." Buffy comes over to talk to Stella. Her discomfort is overridden by Stella's relief to be done talking to Anya.

"Buffy! So glad to see you again. How terrible that it has to be under these circumstances."

"I know. I'm sorry. I miss Giles as much as you do."

"If not more. You did know him far longer. He talked about you like a proud father." Buffy smiles uneasily.

"I'm sorry I couldn't save him." Buffy looks down at the ground. "And I hope that deep down inside you don't blame me." Stella appears shocked at the notion.

"What? Why would I ever - ? . . . Buffy, I know what it's like to lose someone close. You wish it had been you. Because you know that they didn't deserve to die, you begin to think that you did. Don't. If you had died — again — and Rupert had survived, he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. More than anything else, he wanted you to have a future."

"I miss Rupert Giles, too," Anya offers. "He was the only completely decent man I ever met. In eleven centuries. Which says a lot about his character."

Stella finds this strangely touching. She thinks it's strange that she could find anything Anya said to be touching. "Buffy, I'm very serious." She can tell Buffy's massively burdened with guilt. "Sometimes when he was depressed he would add up how much longer he had lived than each dead Potential Slayer. That was what got to him: not the end of the world, not the triumph of Evil, but the lives those girls never got to live. He died happy." Stella stops to hold back a tear. "That was the worst part — I'm devastated, and he looks at peace." For the first time, Buffy thinks about the pain her death caused her friends. They must have felt just as she feels now. "It was like he was telling me not to mourn. How could I not, without paying a disservice to his memory? But mourning is very different from guilt. And the last thing Rupert would have wanted was for you, of all people, to feel guilty."

Or, as Giles put it in his final moments, "I've always thought it would be more just if, sometimes, the Watcher died, and the Slayer lived." With that in mind, the scene shifts to Egypt in the year 1295 B.C. Mal, now one hundred and seventy five years old, is ready to kill his first Slayer. Currently, she is fighting his latest female companion, a stake in her left hand and a sickle in her right. The vampire grabs the Slayer and throws her down the long hypostyle hall, with rows of richly-decorated columns on either side. The Slayer stands and takes a right roundhouse kick to the head. When the vampire tries a right cross, she cuts her right forearm with the sickle. When she tries a straight left kick, she slashes the vampire's calf. The Slayer is five-and-a-half feet tall, making her taller than most women, as well as plenty of men. She fights like a statue, letting her opponents take the lead and repelling all attacks, all the while maintaining a stern, forbidding expression on her face. She wears blue eyeliner that extends beyond her eyes and terminates dramatically in a point on each temple. Her light brown face is bronzed, providing a contrast with the eyeliner and giving her a more forbidding and regal appearance. Her black hair is tucked under her ears before flaring out across the back of her shoulders. Her clothing is brightly-colored and resplendent, though not confining or clumsy. The sleeveless tunic comes down to a few inches above her knees. The idea is to intimidate the vampires by appearing to be a female warrior Pharaoh or Goddess. The vamps already think most of the gods are against them, and are therefore easily cowed by an incredibly powerful opponent of resplendently regal appearance. The Egyptian vampires, that is. Foreign vampires have no such fear of imagery they can't understand.

But they die just the same. The Slayer takes advantage of the vampire's injuries to land a straight right kick to the chin and a leaping left roundhouse to the face. The vampire staggers back, steadies herself and throws a left jab. The Slayer uses the sickle to chop off her left hand. She screams and reaches for the Slayer's throat with her right hand. The Slayer cuts that off as well. The vampire looks in horror at her arms and leaps at her opponent. The Slayer calmy stands still and drives the stake through her heart. One down, one to go.

But the other vampire, who's terrorized Thebes the past few nights, is nowhere to be seen. Not in the courtyards or the servants' quarters, or even the vizier's suite. The palace is eerily quiet. Then the horrified Slayer's nightmare comes true. Four guards outside the young Pharaoh's chamber are unconscious. Heads will roll for this, including hers. But how did he get past all the other layers of security without being seen, and without having to use violence? She hears footsteps behind the curtain, and rushes towards the boy's bedchamber. A black man pops out to meet her. There's no blood on his mouth, which is mildly reassuring. She stands still, and lets him walk down a few stairs and circle round her. "The Pharaoh is resting, and wishes to not be disturbed," Mal tells her, as if he's her superior. "Young Rameses enjoys my stories about Tutmoses especially the Battle at Megiddo. I was there. Fighting by his side." Mal chuckles as he continues to circle round the Slayer, who holds her ground and shows no fear. "Rameses wants to recapture that glory. I tried unsuccessfully to convince him that is impossible. Nations change. They are not immortal." He laughs some more. "Not like me. I only get stronger."

"Or you vanish. Like your harlot."

"I told her to stay in tonight." Mal shrugs. "Oh well." He stands still and holds his arms out. "So are you going to attack me or not? One of us has to start the fight. And you're holding all the weapons." He leaps twenty feet back and grabs one of the unconscious guard's spear. "Not anymore." He rips off the spear point, and tosses it away, mystifying the Slayer. Now he's only holding a six foot-long wooden stick. She attacks while he calmy twirls the stick in his left hand. She swings her sickle for his left arm. He pulls the arm back and spins round, stabbing for her left eye. She parries the stick with the stake in her left hand and kicks him in the stomach with her right foot. He smiles. "Again, please." She lands a left kick to his face. Mal backs up and seeks cover behind a two foot-wide column.

"Hiding like a coward?," she taunts.

"A coward would have run you through with the spear." He climbs fifteen feet up the column and bounds toward the center of the room. "I need no weapons to kill you. Only these." He bears his teeth. They are much smaller than they will one day become, but already his eyes glow a bright red. The Slayer attacks. Mal is quick enough to dodge her sword slashes and duck her kicks as he shuffles his feet along the floor, always half a step ahead. Finally, he sees an opening and lands a left hook kick to the face, followed by a right cross. The enraged and frustrated Slayer swings for his left wrist. He gets his stick on the inside of the sickle and ties the weapon up, then spins his stick around to pry it from her hand. Next, he smashes the stick over her head, snapping it in two, and drops his weapon. She tries a left hook kick, which he blocks with his right arm. She goes for his exposed chest with the stake in her left hand. He grabs her wrist with his left hand, twists it around her back and breaks her arm. She falls to her knees and cries out in pain. Mal leans down to bite her neck from behind.

Back to the present. Mal is in hell, getting pounded on by a Beast. A left jab sends him crashing into the back wall. Mal struggles to stay up on his wobbly legs and looks up at his much taller opponent, who tries to box the vampire's ears. Mal ducks and lands four punches to the body. But they are of no use, since the demon's skin is made of rock. The Beast bashes the top of Mal's head with his right fist, and he falls to his knees. "You don't break," the demon says with a smile. "More fun for me." He nails Mal's left eye with two right hooks. Mal's body wobbles, and he falls forward onto his face, reaching his arms out, grabbing the demon's left hoof, and pulling him down. The Beast's back crashes onto the dusty stone floor as Mal slowly climbs to his feet. He leans his back against the wall to enjoy a few seconds' respite as the Beast stands up.

"Do you yield?," Mal asks. The Beast chuckles at this ludicrous request from a man who can barely stand. Mal charges in heedlessly. The Beast bashes him with a left cross. Mal stays up and wraps his arms around the demon's torso. He groans as he struggles to lift the Beast, hoping he can get the demon off the ground before his legs and back give out. He succeeds, and bodyslams his opponent. Mal then takes advantage of the demon's temporary shock to grab his horns from behind, growling as he slowly twists the demon's head off. He cries out in horror a split second before death, realizing only then that he is doomed. Mal spikes the head into the floor and staggers round. Azreal enters. He looks with astonishment at the decapitated Beast.

"I had no idea they could be killed like that."

"You can't break me down. Now give me what I want before I kill any more of your creatures."

"We are prepared to offer you a choice position, with plenty of responsibility."

"Let me see the man in charge."

"That's not possible at this stage. You've barely arrived. These things take time."

"I serve no master."

"Then you rot in a cage."

"Killing all who seek to torment me." He swings for Azreal, but the demon keeps shifting positions to avoid all blows, leaving Mal swatting at air.

"It doesn't have to be this difficult," Azreal cooly says as he walks away.

"You can't hold me forever!"

Azreal turns around and smiles. "Oh yes we can."

"And I'll make you regret it! I've conquered every world I've ever lived in. And I'll conquer this one. Unless you let me out." Azreal slams the thick iron bars shut. Mal staggers over and grabs them. Azreal stands there to listen. Perhaps the vampire was coming round. He seemed desperate. "Send me to a place where I can do you and your boss some good."

He thinks this over, letting Mal believe from his facial expressions that he might say yes. "We can't control you here. How could we ever hope control you somewhere else?," he asks with a smile before walking away. Mal pounds on the bars. Then he walks over to the Beast's corpse, gets on his knees, rips of the horns, and uses them to chip away at the skin, attempting to make simple edged stone weapons much as he had when he was a young boy, hunting to fill his hungry belly. He was back where he started three-and-a-half millennia ago. It would be a tough climb. But he always loved a challenge, the more arduous the better.

"How you holding up?," Lindsey asks Xander.

"Literally, or figuratively? Literally, I'm holding up well. I have to, because if I trip, I have no way of breaking my fall."

"I wish I could say I knew what you're going through."

"Actually, I wish you couldn't. You're a decent guy, Lindsey." Of course Xander would feel that way about Angel's old arch-enemy.

"At least you lost yours doing something noble. Unlike yours truly. If I could give you mine, I would."

Xander shakes his head. "I could never . . . besides, it's the wrong hand."

"I meant the one that's never been evil. I could still strum with my right, and use a slide for fingering."

"I appreciate the offer." What he actually appreciates is a guy who can help him make light of his new disability while also empathizing. "You should come down to LA for dinner. I know a lot of us would love to hang out you."

"And I know one person who wouldn't."

"That's the best part." Xander would love to see Angel envious.

"Lorne's setting up a club in the basement. Tonight's opening night."

"Perhaps another. Right now, I really don't feel much like singing."

That night, Lorne's new club in the Hyperion basement is packed to its capacity of one hundred fifty patrons. Along the right wall and the back wall is a raised platform for booths and tables. Buffy and the others sit in the "VIP" section along the right wall, opposite the bar. Everyone wants to kick back and forget about recent horrors, if only for a few hours. The neo-Slayers are with their boyfriends, except for Ariella and Fadila, who are together, causing them to joke some more with each other about their "forbidden" relationship. (Ella still hasn't decided which would upset her parents more: having a Palestinian best friend or becoming a lesbian). Dawn and Connor are at a semi-circular booth with Eli and Kit. Xander, Anya, Buffy and Angel are at an adjacent booth. Next to them are Wes, Gunn and Fred. Lorne's chatting them up while a demon sings.

"He's better than most performers at Caritas," Wes comments.

"Because he's a pro. Just like everyone else onstage tonight. It's opening night. Why take a risk on amateurs?"

"I love the remodeling job you did," Fred enthuses about a room where a month ago they fought to the bitter end with Angelus's vampire gang.

"Thank Xander. His crew did it. Though they were following my plan."

"It's a shame he'll never work again," Fred sighs. "Xander was so good with his hands." Gun and Wes look worried. "And his tools. Building things with them."

"I don't believe it!," Anya exclaims.

"I know. Who knew a Gak demon could sing?," Buffy quips.

"That's Ainu. And Grella. And Istra. This place is crawling with Vengeance Demons."

Xander appears worried. "Hopefully not at work."

"Of course not. Otherwise they'd be chatting up the bitter-looking women at the bar. They're clearly off-duty. As are Felnao and Zulchinatza in back. Is this some sort of reunion? I'm going to talk to Grella." She hops over. Grella stands up and they embrace like old friends.

"Anyaka! I haven't seen you in ages. What happened to your leg?"

"Don't get your hopes up, Grel. It was done by a woman, and she was already ripped limb-from-limb."

"Fabulous. What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are all of you doing here?" Lorne takes the stage.

"Thank you. A big round of applause. How knew a Gak could yak like that? Up next is a horse of a different color. Literally. Except he's not a horse. Though he does have a beautiful main. Making his LA debut, put your hands together for Clay Jenks." A couple dozen humans clap loudly, and a few of the women yell.

"Sounds like this guy already has a fan base," Xander notes. A tall man walks onto the darkened stage, wearing tight blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a white jacket. He looks down and starts playing his acoustic guitar left-handed. After a few bars, the spotlight comes on and the man lifts his head and starts singing into the microphone. Angel gasps. It's none other than Clayton Jenkins, evil Wolfram & Hart lawyer. He leaves the table and rushes across the room to Lorne, who stands at the end of the bar, listening and smiling.

"Connor, is something wrong?," Dawn asks.

"I know this guy. I met him the night before last night. He killed a vampire and gave me his card." And the keys to a vacation house, he might have added.

Clayton sings an old bluegrass standard in his original Kentucky twang:

"Tempted and tried, we're oft made to wonder,

Why it should be thus all the day long.

While there are others living about us,

Never molested, though in the wrong."

"What the hell is he doing in here?," an irate Angel demands to know.

"Knocking the audience's socks off."

"He's from Wolfram & Hart. He came in here in Monday?" Lorne looks a little closer.

"I thought I'd seen him somewhere," Lorne replies. "Though I don't pick up a hate vibe."

"Clay Jenkins. Clayton Jenkins. How could you not pick up on that?"

"I didn't know the lawyer's name. Anyway, Clay comes highly recommended. Plenty of great references from happy promoters and club owners. I thought he was a full-time musician."

"Is that who I think it is?," Fred asks.

"Apparently Wolfram & Hart likes lawyers who can carry a tune," Wes adds.

Angel can't believe this. The lawyer he holds partly responsible for what happened in Sunnydale is singing to the survivors in Angel's home. It was beyond sickening. And it was about to get worse:

"When death has come and taken our loved ones,

It leaves our home so lonely and drear,

Then do we wonder why others prosper

Living so wicked year after year.

"Farther along we'll know all about it,

Farther along we'll understand why;

Cheer up my brother, live in the sunshine,

We'll understand it all by and by."

"A funeral dirge! About unjust death! To a room full of people who've just . . . " Angel's ready to explode.

"And the worst part is, and long as he's within these four walls, you can't touch him."

And to top it all off, Buffy, Xander, Anya, Dawn and the neo-Slayers appear to be moved by the music:

"Faithful til death, said our loving Master

A few more days to labor and wait,

Toils of the road will then seem as nothing

As we sweet through the beautiful gate."

Angel swore that when Clay sang that last line, his blue eyes darted towards Buffy. Even without knowing who the singer is, a chill goes up Buffy's spine. Angel rushes over. "He's evil."

"Could you be more specific," Buffy suggests.

"The man on stage. He's a lawyer working for my arch-enemy. And he umm, he, he offered my something that could have helped you fight the First. If I killed an innocent ten year-old girl."

"Sounds like a real scumbag. Why's he here?"

"Lorne didn't know." Clayton finishes. The audience cheers.

"And he's very good," Xander offers. "Scumbag or not."

"He's a lawyer, and a fighter, and a singer," Dawn notes. "What did he want with you?"

"Nothing," Connor defensively responds. "Just to apologize for when they tried to dissect me."

"They cut you open!"

"No. They never got the chance. And all those people were killed by the Beast. He's, he's knew."

"What are you hiding?," Kit asks Connor.

"Nothing."

"Leave my boy alone," Elijah suggests.

"There's something you're not telling Dawn about this man."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do."

Connor shivers. "Are you reading my mind?" Kit's freaking him out in much the same way he freaks plenty of other people out.

"I don't need to be a mind reader to you're hiding something."

"If I was thinking — just thinking — about another woman, would you be able to tell?," Elijah asks his girlfriend, trying to make light of the situation and take the heat off of Connor.

"It's okay, Kit," Dawn assures her friend. "Connor wouldn't hide anything from me." She puts her right arm around his shoulders, looks at Connor and smiles. He smiles back nervously.

Clay walks over to the piano on the right side of the stage (away from Buffy and friends), takes off his jacket, sits down and begins playing Jackson Browne's "Rock Me On The Water:"

"The road is filled with homeless souls,

Every woman, child and man.

Who have no idea where they will go,

But they'll help you if they can."

"Okay, he's evil. Is this is his way of rubbing it in?," Buffy asks Angel.

"He really likes to rub it in."

"This guy's beaten you before?," Xander inquires. Angel tries to control his anger.

"No. He's never beaten me. But he gloats as if every day he's still alive, every day I'm not foiling his every plan, is some sort of victory."

"So he's petty, childish and immature, and you could kick his ass anytime," Buffy concludes. Actually, Angel had tried that, and found it more difficult than expected. "I don't see why you should seethe."

"I'm not seething."

"Isn't it unusual for male lawyers to have hair that long?," Xander asks. "I mean, it's longer than Buffy's." Clayton finishes his set and receives a big round of applause. Lorne quickly hops up on stage and launches into "It's Not Easy Being Green," cutting Clay's adulation short and not even thanking him. Clayton mingles with fans near the bar, shaking hands and signing autographs.

"He was good, but he wasn't that good," Buffy comments on the star treatment, unnerving Angel. He still hasn't accepted Lindsey's talent, to say nothing of this far more slimy and insidious foe. "Is he working some sort of augmenting spell?"

"Wouldn't that make everyone love him?," Xander asks. "Including us?"

"You know Lorne?," Ainu asks Anya with a smile. "Could you introduce me?"

"Introduce yourself," Istra recommends. "He's very approachable."

"And lonely," Anya adds. She finds this Lorne-as-heartthrob talk a little odd.

"Not anymore," Grella reports. The Vengeance Demons giggle.

"Yes. It is funny that you're swooning over a demon who dresses like Liberace."

"Anyaka, please don't stereotype," Grella tells her with an air of politically correct superiority.

"And if you must," Ainu begins, "Get your stereotypes right. Everyone knows it's the muscular Pyleans who go for that sort of thing."

"All those years away on campaign, with nary a woman in sight," Istra jokes. The girls snicker.

"While the effeminate Pyleans always make the best lovers," Ainu concludes.

"Not always," Anya objects.

"Anyaka!," Grella exclaims.

"Grel, I'm ten times older than you. I've experienced things you can't imagine."

"Like human love," Istra ripostes. The girls share a laugh at Anya's expense.

"Don't mock," Grella cautions. "Human men can be very giving."

"You mean they're pushovers," Ainu quips.

"Is there a difference?"

Clay finishes up with his fans and heads to the back of the room to see Mona, who wears a wide-brimmed hat and a curly blonde wig. They hug and whisper sweet somethings. Mona looks in Buffy's direction and grins mischievously. Never lacking for chutzpah, Clayton approaches Buffy and Angel. Angel stands. The two men stare each other down, Angel looking intense, Clay appearing to be intensely disinterested. "Lovely club. Great opening night! I wish you the best of success." Clayton tries to step past Angel towards Buffy, who's sitting down. Angel blocks his path. Clay chuckles. "She doesn't need your protection. Certainly not in here."

"Why don't we continue this conversation outside," Angel suggests.

"I love being threatened. It makes me feel important." Sitting in the booth with Buffy, Xander can't help but feel a perverse admiration for a guy who's standing up to Angel and doing such a great job of getting under his skin.

"Is there something you want to say to me?," Buffy asks contempt and bravado.

"Yes." Clay smiles. As he steps by Angel, his expression immediately changes from smug to consoling. He leans over, looks down at Buffy and flashes his soft blue eyes. "It's always hard to beat an enemy who is prepared for you. The First Evil knew of your immense power. So they were able to deploy something to counter you. But only at great cost. Since they had to put all their energies into neutralizing you, that had nothing left to react to any unforeseen developments. Others were able to prevail only because you had already drawn all the enemy's fire. And still, they could not eliminate you. One of the most powerful armies in the universe points all its guns at you, and you're the one still standing. It's a powerful lesson. And once everyone learns it, only the foolish will challenge you. Have a lovely evening." He nods and smiles at Xander, then turns, looks at Angel and smirks.

"What is that lizard up to now?," Wes asks from the next booth. Mona walks past, looks at Fred and smiles flirtatiously.

"Is that woman coming onto you?," Gunn asks. When she sees Mona take Clay's right arm, she realizes who it is, and cringes. The happy couple walks past Dawn's booth. Mona glances at Kit, looking more businesslike than mischievous. Clay and Mona turn left, walk past the stage and head for the exit. Kit shivers.

"I feel violated!"

Elijah moves away and looks nervous. "Sorry. I didn't know that putting my hand on your knee was crossing a line. But if that's too much, I'll, I'll hold back."

"Not you. Her."

"Her? How?"

"She has power."

"The musician-lawyer-fighter is dating a witch?," Dawn asks. "That can't be a good combination."

"He said he was in love," Connor recalls.

"I need to talk to my dad." Kit runs out of the room.

"Not to sound selfish or anything," a still-confused Eli says to Dawn, "But that had nothing to do with me, right?"


	11. Saturday night's not right for fighting

"I don't trust someone who doesn't have any enemies. If you're a good person, some people will hate you."

Angel angrily paces in the lobby, flanked by Wes, Gunn, Fred and Buffy, with Connor and Dawn off to the side. They can hear the rumble of the music downstairs. "I can't let him get away. That scumbag crossed a line."

"What did this guy do to you?," Buffy wonders.

"He's evil."

"This may be news to you, but I also come across a lot of evil people," she says sarcastically. "And they don't get me this upset unless they've done something especially bad, like go after my family or make me feel like a victim."

"He does not make me feel like a victim," Angel snorts.

"Then what is it?"

Angel pauses. He looks at his friends, who already know. "It's what he did to you. Or didn't do."

"He was involved with the First?"

"He offered to help. He was going to give me a powerful object that could kill demons. If I killed a ten year-old girl. It might have helped. Maybe it could have saved a few lives."

"And you feel guilty for not killing this girl?"

"Of course not!"

"So you're mad at this lawyer for not offering more reasonable terms?"

"Not really. He's evil, after all. What could I expect?"

"You're mad that he played you."

"He didn't play' me."

"Yes he did. He sprung a guilt trap."

"That's not what happened," Angel argues defensively. He's not used to Buffy playing the role of teacher. "He didn't want the world to end - at that particular moment. He knew that I didn't. He knew how much I cared about you. And he wanted to see how far I would go to help you."

"Like an ethical Fear Factor," Dawn offers.

"He knew you couldn't turn down the chance to hear him out," Buffy continues. "He knew you'd have to refuse the offer. He knew you'd feel guilty afterwards."

"You're forgetting something," Angel points out. "He would have also had to have complete confidence in you. Because if you lost, he lost, and he'd feel really guilty for refusing to help you."

"He had more faith in Buffy than you did?," Connor asks his dad, seriously upsetting Angel.

"Or you," Dawn reminds Connor. They both wanted to stay and fight Nina. Angel can't believe he crafted an argument that made Clayton look good.

"We're wasting time," Angel declares. "He's out of the hotel, which means he's fair game."

"Not necessarily," Kit's father objects as he rushes down the stairs with his daughter. "He's with an Omni."

"An omniscient?," Wesley asks.

"What's that?," Fred wonders.

"The ultimate in magical defense," Kit's dad replies.

"Who are you?," Angel wonders, not used to hotel guests joining their strategy sessions.

"Angel, this is Christopher Holburn," Wes explains. "He is Kit's father. And a warlock." Angel looks at Kit, then at Dawn, then at Christopher. His son's girlfriend's best friend's father was a warlock. That couldn't be good. He'd never met a good warlock.

"Therapist. And career counselor," Christopher offers. "I haven't practiced in a long time."

"Practiced . . . magic?," Fred asks. The term sounded so professional.

"Yes. I felt her scan me tonight. So did Kit."

"Kit's a witch?," Angel asks nervously.

"No, I'm - " Kit replies before being cut off by her father, who appears angered by the question.

"She's never practiced. But she can't help possessing certain powers, which an Omni would read, in order to gauge any possible local threats."

"I still don't know what an Omni is," Buffy points out. "And, by the way, nice to meet you Mister Holburn."

"You too." They shake hands. "Kit's told me so many wonderful things about you."

"I'm honored." Angel's peeved that Buffy doesn't share his suspicions.

"Omnis are magically-gifted women who are highly sensitive to their immediate surroundings," Wesley explains, explaining nothing. Christopher sighs and fills in the details.

"Omnis can sense any gathering magical or demonic danger within a limited radius."

"Like this hotel?," Connor asks.

"Or a high-rise office building?," Angel adds, recalling his utter inability to surprise Clay.

"Yes. Which makes them very desirable for white-collar malefactors. They're mute and hairless, which make them easily discoverable. They communicate telepathically." Fred and Angel recall Mona doing this to them on Tuesday night. "And if they touch you, they can briefly control your mind. Omnis have a very short life span, dying five to ten years after they start using their powers. The human brain can handle the load for only so long."

"So the singing lawyer hides behind his girl," Gunn notes, mildly upsetting Angel, who's been known to do the same thing.

"We have to do something," Buffy declares. "We can't just wait for someone that powerful to try a spell that destroys us."

"She can't," Christopher assures them. "They're strictly defensive, with no remote capabilities. You're safe so long as you're not in the same room with her."

"And he's safe so long as he is," Angel infers.

"I suppose you could shoot him, if it means that much to you," Christopher casually quips before beginning to walk upstairs.

"Uh Dad, I was going to see Elijah. I left him without an explanation."

"Okay," her dad grudgingly replies after a few seconds' pause. He goes up to their room. She goes down to the basement.

"That was weird," Buffy observes. "It was weird, right?," she asks, not knowing what's been going on here the past week. Fred nods.

"Connor, you didn't tell me your friend was a witch."

"She's not," he tells his father.

"He dad's very strict about her not using her powers at all," Dawn explains. "On account of the fact that Kit's mom died from abusing magic." She hoped this would build sympathy and understanding.

"Both her parents?," Angel asks, mildly alarmed. "So she can wreak some serious damage."

"Yeah dad. She's a real destroyer," Connor quips, his retort dripping with angry sarcasm.

"Does that blonde kid have any powers or discipline problems I should know about?"

"Elijah's harmless," Dawn argues, angered by Angel's suspicion of her best friend Kit. He thinks he's just being a concerned father. The last thing Connor needs are friends who can augment his already substantial power. "He couldn't hurt anyone even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't." Angel's not so sure. He's been suspicious of Eli since the moment they met.

"I've seen his permanent record," Buffy assures Angel. "It's spotless."

"What about Kit?" Buffy looks nervous.

"It's . . . not as big as mine."

"But yours were all misunderstandings."

"Kit's not a trouble-maker," Dawn states. "Otherwise Buffy wouldn't have told me to hang out with her on the first day of school." He glares at Buffy.

"They were nearly killed. Safety in numbers."

"Hate to interrupt, but ain't we getting way off track?," Gunn points out.

"Good point," Angel concedes. "We have to focus on the problem at hand, which is Wolfram & Hart's new star lawyer."

"I suggest we research the man before doing anything rash," Wes proposes.

"I'll go see what I can find online," Dawn says, hopping towards the office.

"That was my line," Fred half-pouts.

"You can help me," Dawn offers, upsetting Fred by the boldness of her usurpation.

"Connor met this guy on the streets," Gunn recalls.

"What did he say to you?," Angel inquires, convinced that Connor's hiding something.

"Nothing, really. He killed a vampire."

"With you?"

"By himself. I killed my own."

"So he can fight," Gunn realizes. Angel scoffs.

"He was showing off. You know, like when you keep pounding after you could stake it just to show how tough you are."

"I did that once or twice," Buffy notes. "Same with Faith. But we're Slayers. Kind of strange for a normal guy to take that risk."

"If this guy likes to brawl on the streets, he's gonna have a rep," Gunn explains. "How many tough guys wear a blonde ponytail?"

"He's not tough," Angel retorts. "That's why he has his girlfriend."

"Point is, he'll stand out. I'm thinking of asking around, see what the word is on him."

"I should probably work some of my demon sources, see what they know," Angel suggests. "That leaves Wesley. And Connor." Even now, pairing them together is painful for Angel.

"Actually, I was thinking of taking some of the Slayers on a patrol."

"They're still recovering," Buffy retorts.

"Several of the girls have expressed an interest in getting back out into the field."

"They didn't mention anything to me." It's a heinous reversal of the way things once were, with Wesley in the know and Buffy on the outside looking in.

"Because you won't be out in the field until Monday." Buffy hated being reminded of her injury.

"You do a lot of hunting?," Connor asks Wes.

"Pardon?"

"Maybe I should go out with you and the Slayers." Dawn hops out of the office.

"I'm sorry, Connor. Did you say you're going out with the Slayers?"

"Out hunting," he replies, walking over to her. "What's the harm in letting them tag along?" Buffy seethes. Slayers don't "tag along," especially after the likes of Connor. "You doing research, right?"

"Yeah. Wait. There's something I need." She reaches her right hand into Connor's back left pocket and pulls out Clay's business card. He smiles. Buffy and Angel avert their eyes. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Ariella and Rona are eager to get out, though Madari hesitates for a few minutes before leaving Prashant. Once they get outside, the first thing the teenagers do is try to ditch the adult. "I'm your Watcher," Wesley reminds them.

"This ain't Sunnydale," Rona retorts. The girls are definitely getting rebellious. It seems that Annette's warnings were prescient. "We don't stand around graveyards, or walk a couple blocks of an excuse for a downtown. We have to cover lots of ground and, no offense, we're not sure if you can keep up."

"You or any other man," Ella adds. "Don't take this personally."

"I have my motorcycle."

"Too noisy," Connor explains.

"This isn't your decision." He suspects Connor encouraged the girls to ditch him, and they're just following his lead.

"Maybe some other time," Madari offers.

Wesley relents, knowing it's pointless to resist. "Very well. Report back when you return." He realizes he might be reverting to Old Wesley mode. "Or tomorrow afternoon. When we'll train." The girls smile. They like the chance training offers to test their new abilities. Wesley wishes he could talk to Giles about handling willful Slayers. He's afraid to talk to Claude Marcel, since he might view Wesley's concerns as a sign of weakness. He still doesn't trust Claude. Alas, Claude faces similar difficulties. And they aren't even with a Slayer.

"Over my dead body!," he yells in French to his daughter.

"That is what I am trying to avoid."

He laughs at the notion that she's tougher than him. "You are a child."

"I'm eighteen!"

"My father didn't let me fight vampires on my own until I was twenty two."

"Children grow up faster these days."

"This city has Slayers, a vampire Champion, and a vampire offspring. It does not need you."

"Why kind of vampire would attack any of them?"

"A hungry one."

"A stupid one. They're probably all dead by now."

"New ones arrive every day. This city has an abundance of two things: unemployed actors and brainless vampires."

"What do you know about Los Angeles?"

"I know that it is the most dangerous city in North America."

"What about Detroit?"

"For vampire and demon attacks. Not to mention abductions. You're not careful, you could get carted off to another world. This is the only major city with more portals than subway stops."

"The twin evils of dangerous demons and poor public transportation," she jokes.

"I'm not letting you out of this hotel room." She sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Try to stay out of sight."

"Not to worry. This doddering old man won't slow you down."

Connor finds West Hollywood suspiciously devoid of vampires. "I thought you said this was a dangerous place," Ariella complains. Having grown up in the Occupied Territories, she knows a thing or two about dangerous locales.

"It usually is. Especially on a Saturday night."

"Let's hit the clubs," Rona suggests. "To look for vampires," she assures the other girls, so that they don't think she just wants to party.

"We should check the docks. Plenty of vampires hiding down there." Connor's hoping he can make a big killing. Now that he has three Slayers backing him up, he can go after large nests he couldn't handle on his own.

"We're miles from the shore," Rona reminds him.

"I know. We take the bus." Connor looks at the number on an approaching bus. "I think that one goes near there." As the bus passes by, he leaps on the back and climbs on the roof. "Come on!" The Slayers just stand there.

"How long has he been on Earth?," Ariella asks.

"Back home, people do that on trains," Madari notes. "But never on lorries."

"I say we join him," Rona proposes. The other two looked shocked. "Inside the bus." They use their Slayer speed to catch up with the bus even though it's three blocks ahead, which is pretty thrilling. Then they pay the fare and climb in.

"Wimps," Connor jokes to himself.

Fred sees Wesley enter the courtyard. "What are you doing back so soon?"

"They said I would only slow them down. Why aren't you researching?"

"It's a one-person job."

"And that person isn't you?"

"Dawn's pretty focused on this one, since he propositioned her boyfriend in a dark alley. That might have come out wrong."

"I can see how she'd take a personal interest. If someone nefarious was meddling with a woman I cared deeply about - " He pauses, as does she.

"Wanna go grab a bite to eat?"

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry." He leaves for home. Fred's floored by his inability to take a hint.

"Charlie Gunn!"

"Darnell!" They hug. Darnell has two young men behind him. "This your crew?"

"What's left of it." The both pause and look at the ground, recalling when Mal killed twenty men in less than a minute.

"He ain't coming back."

"Let's hope."

"We killed him."

"Naw." Darnell shakes his head.

"Word. I saw him die."

"I saw him kill. Dude's indestructible."

"Believe what you want. He's gone."

"So what brings you to our side of town?"

"There's a guy, a wannabe baller named Clayton Jenkins. You heard?"

"Clay? White dude with long hair?"

"So you've met."

"Bout a week ago, he worked out a deal with some landlords, got us all places to live. For free! Plus he bought us some phat weapons."

"He's your patron?," Gunn asks with concern.

"He's a player. Gang-bangers all know him by name. I hear the big ones are his clients."

"And you trust him?"

"Hell no! It ain't like we're tight. He did us some favors, gave us some gear, and that was that. What would you have done?"

"Wow . . . wow . . . I need another drink." Carrie finishes her cosmo. "Those are some very interesting dating stories, Cordelia."

"Stories?," Cordy asks with a mischievous smile, enjoying this attempt to blow a neophyte's mind.

"You have a very vivid imagination."

"I didn't make those up. If I did, I'd be a writer. And, no offense, but I'd probably make more money that you."

"Undoubtedly." She downs another drink. "You're saying the relationships are real, and you've just embellished them with the use of metaphor? Very clever. I talked about that in tonight's class."

"A metaphor for what? I mean, in your opinion," Cordy wonders, playing along.

"The troubles face by the single career gal in the big city. The two of us write about the exact same subject. But you extrapolate it out with magical realism or, whatever, to give it this fantastical sheen. We've all had lousy one-night stands. You turn it into an insta-monster-pregnancy, which is wonderful!"

"It wasn't wonderful to go through." Carrie laughs.

"You're great at staying in character. And this Angel.' He's the classic, perfect, unattainable man. A sensitive hunk. A heroic warrior. An incredible dresser. But cursed! The dream guy you can only have in your dreams."

"Maybe I should show you his picture again," Cordy suggests to overcome the skepticism.

"Eternally young, yet eternally mature. Who wouldn't want that?"

"Hopefully not you. He likes blondes, but, well - "

"There's still at least a few hundred men in this town I can date before I need to move on," she quips. "I'm an old-fashioned girl. I think love and sex should go together. In his case, obviously, they can't. Is this the awkward English guy who slobbered on you?"

"Yeah. That's Wesley."

"He doesn't look so awkward anymore. Do you have any pictures of the son'?"

"Not on me."

"I think every girl our age has had her Connor.'"

"OUR age?," Cordy asks cattily. They're drunk enough that she's forgotten this is a woman she wants to suck up to. Carrie just laughs.

"Every girl my age, when she was your age, goes out with a younger guy, while she still can. Last time I tried he said I reminded him of his mother!" She laughs, Cordelia doesn't. "It's fun, for about two seconds, and then you realize they're just too immature."

"Then how come men don't realize that when they go out with much younger women?," Cordy asks, thinking of Buffy.

"Men have lower standards." Cordy smiles, thinking of Buffy.

The Slayers come to an eight foot-high chain link fence. Rona bends her knees and leaps over it. Ariella jumps up, grabs the top of the fence with both hands and swings her legs over. Madari lands on top, then hops down. Connor scales the fence and uses his upward momentum to help him leap from the top, sailing over the girls. "Show off," Rona jokes. Connor glances back at them, smiles and leads the way. He kicks open a door and enters a warehouse. It's empty, but contains couches, lamps, sleeping bags and other signs of habitation.

"They were here tonight. I can smell them."

"Vampires smell different than people?," Rona asks.

"How so?," Ariella wonders, before thinking better of it. Connor has criss-crossed the docks, checked dozens of abandoned buildings all around town, but come up empty-handed tonight. He feels a little embarrassed.

"What about those clubs?," Madari suggests. This gives Connor an idea.

Angel's prowling the sewer. "Kline? I know you're around here. I can smell you." Someone hits Angel from behind with a baseball bat and lands another swing before Angel rolls out of the way, gets up, grabs the bat and pushes a tall, thin, yellow-skinned demon with long orange hair up against the wall.

"Angel!"

"Kline, what was that for?"

"Sorry Angel. I have to be extra careful around vampires these days. Ever since Mal sent you guys on the warpath. No offense. By you guys' I don't mean you in particular. Just, every other vampire."

"Mal is dead." Kline laughs.

"Yeah. And I'm Miss America."

"I killed him."

"Sure you did. Sure you did, Angel."

"Has anyone seen him around in the past nine nights?," Angel asks rhetorically.

"He's a busy vamp. But he'll return. Why else do ya think the vampires fight like an army?"

"The re-organization. They're carrying through with that?" Angel had seen the plans the night before killing Mal, and assumed they died with their architect.

"It's carried. Man, the vamps used to know their place. No offense. Now they're all uppity. Talking about demon inferiority,' and how we don't belong here."

"Vampires have never liked demons. No offense."

"But we were still brothers, man. Compared to the humans. Now they think they're the highest-of-the-high, and we're the lowest-of-the-low."

"There's nothing new or special about vampires and demons fighting for turf." Angel doesn't want to concede that Mal achieved some sort of revolutionary paradigm shift. He'd hate to give an enemy such credit.

"And we'd always win. Demons are just stronger. No offense. But they're organized. Like the humans! And we're not."

"Who's their leader?"

"Who else? Mal."

"Mal's gone."

"You mean who's his agent? This new hotshot at Wolfram & Hart." Angel sighs.

"Clayton Jenkins."

"Yeah. I thought that company was run by demons. Why are they turning on their own kind?"

"You think Clayton's behind this, umm, demon cleansing?"

"It's a shakedown, man! Even demons who are his clients have to pay the vamps. See, they leave us alone if we drop the dime. We don't, we're toast. That's why I'm down here, man. Got too much pride to pay. But I still wanna live."

Annette slowly walks down a suitably seedy alley, wearing a bright red jacket to attract vampires towards her long, bare, swanlike neck. Her hands are in her jacket pockets, a stake in her right pocket, a cross in her left. She spins around and gasps upon seeing a young man approach. He smiles bashfully. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Merci. I am new to this city, and am lost," she replies with a heavier accent and less fluent English than she actually speaks. "Could you help me, masseur?"

"Definitely." He goes bumpy. She kicks him in the chest with her right foot. Two other vampires rush in and watch the attacker's back. He charges in. Annette holds her ground, grabs the vampire and throws him into the wall. He tries to grab her. She stays back and shuffles to the right. He turns round and they circle counter-clockwise. "I like a good fight."

"Not me. I like a quick kill," Annette responds, equating her slaying with his feeding. After all, they both try to lure in their prey and exploit an enemy's naivete. One of the lookout vampires is content that there is no ambush, and turns round to watch the interesting fight. Claude sneaks up on him from behind and sticks him with a four foot-long wooden stave, sharpened at both ends. The other lookout attacks Claude with a ten inch-long dagger.

"Merde."

"Papa!," Annette shouts, looking to her right. Her opponent grabs her and goes for the bite. She knees him in the groin and escapes. Claude uses his long stave to keep the knife out of range. Finally, the vampire leaps over Claude's head. He tries to stake him in midair with an upturned stave, but the vampire grabs the end and rips it off on his way down. Claude spins the weapon round and stabs with the other sharp end. The vamp chops the point off at the last instant with his dagger. Annette stands with her back to the wall so the vampire can't grab her from behind. He approaches cautiously, watching her hands for any weapons. He throws a right jab. She doesn't flinch, but ducks under the blow, steps around him, reaches her right arm out and gets him from behind with a backhand stake. Her father puts a cross to the vampire's right hand as he tries to stab him and puts out his cigarette on the vampire's face. He yells in pain and retreats. They both catch their breath.

"And they say smoking kills," he jokes.

"I did it!"

"You would have been dead without me."

"European vampires are more charming. They try to get to know you first."

"I'm surprised they all didn't attack you at once."

"They must be used to ambushes."

"Clearly they were very nervous about getting surprised."

Connor enters a lively bar with Rona, Ariella and Madari. He looks around for a few seconds and abruptly leaves. "That was weak," Rona criticizes, expressing her view about the entire night.

"Something's wrong," Connor declares.

"I expected a vampire bar to be less cheerful," Ariella offers. "More goth, or, whatever."

"Those are humans. This place used to be crawling with vampires."

"So they've expanded their customer base," Rona figures.

"The man behind the counter – he's still a vampire."

"Kill the bartender?," Rona asks.

"Won't that make everyone else really mad?," Madari wonders. She's not eager to fight off an angry mob of broken beer bottle-wielding drunks.

"There could be others," Connor theorizes. He goes back in. The Slayers decide to follow.

"Can I see some I.D.?," the bartender asks. Connor smiles. This is usually the point where he'd throw someone through a window. He glances to the left and right. The bartender reaches under the bar and clicks something. Connor recognizes the sound of a shotgun being cocked. He holds off on that brawl he was about to start. "You're not welcome here," the proprietor whispers from four feet away at a volume only Connor or a vampire could hear. This means the Slayers, and none of the other patrons, know what's going on. Causing a scene is bad for business. He cocks the shotgun again without brandishing the weapon, since that would also be disruptive. "Maybe you can kill me before I can fire at you. Or at one of your girlfriends. Maybe not. But this is my bar, and I'm willing to die for it. Are you?" Connor glances to his left. Outside the rest rooms and next to the pay phone is a vampire (in human face) with his right hand at his belt, indicating that he's packing. At the very least, a fight would result in a lot of innocent humans getting caught in the crossfire and killed, which Connor's father would get very upset about. To say nothing of Buffy's fury when she learned that Connor got her Slayers into a saloon shootout. He puts his hands on the bar rail.

"My mistake. I didn't know I was dealing with a coward." He turns round. "Let's go," he says to the Slayers.

"You girls are welcome to stay. Slayers drink free." The three of them spin round at the door.

"Well I'll be," Rona chuckles as she walks over to the bartender. "Two days in LA, and already I'm a celebrity." Ariella and Madari follow her. Theyre honored by the recognition. It's the first time strangers have known who they are. Connor stays back, alternating between glaring at the bartender and scanning the place to count the number of vamps and make sure no one gets bit.

"What happened to the other two?," he asks with a smile. This really freaks the girls out.

"Shouldn't a vampire be nervous about having Vampire Slayers in his bar?," Rona asks.

"In here, we don't drink anything that don't come out of a bottle. Live and let live."

"But you're dead," Madari quips.

"Way I hear it, that's how Slayers like their men." The girls take offense, until they realize he's not insulting them.

"What do you know about Slayers?," Ariella asks.

"We're the first ones you've met," Rona states.

"How do you know that?"

"Cause if we weren't, you'd be dust."

"Whatever you think of my kind, a vampire for each of you is better than all of you having to share Wonder Boy." Not that was insulting.

"He in NOT our boyfriend," Ariella snaps.

"For your information, we already got boyfriends," Rona explains. "Normal human boyfriends. Except for Ella, who's, like, religious. Why am I telling you this?"

"I'm a bartender. People tell me everything." The Slayers hit a few clubs and do some dancing on the way home, but don't find any vamps. Connor can't comprehend the bar's sudden shift in clientele. It doesn't occur to him that it might have something to do with his firebombing of a vampire bar ten days ago, an event that may have convinced vampires not to make themselves sitting ducks. Connor enters his room very late, expecting Dawn to be asleep. But she's sitting on the bed, her laptop in her lap.

"Long night?," she asks. He had been gone for more than five hours.

"Lousy night." She's selfishly glad to hear this. "No killing."

"At least no one died. On your side. Our side."

"I missed you," he says with a smile, climbing onto the bed and running his left hand up her right leg. Dawn's heart melts. Her knees would be getting weak if one of them wasn't already shattered. "Can't wait till we can hunt together." The term "hunting" always sounds so alien to her, like it means going on safari. It also reminded her of the man he met while hunting two nights ago.

"What did he say to you?"

"He?"

"This Clayton guy."

"Right." Connor had forgotten about that little project. "Find out anything?"

"A lot. This guy's got a fan club."

"Sure are a lot of evil people out there."

"That's not why they celebrate him. I mean, it's not why they say they celebrate him. To a lot of people, Clayton Jenkins is the embodiment of the American Dream. If I didn't know he worked for an evil law firm, I'd say the guy was a living saint. Least that's what these people say."

"They've been fooled. Right?" Clay did seem like a nice guy when Connor met him. Sure, it was probably an act, but how many fast-talking charmers give you a house?

"If so, then everyone's been fooled. He has tons of friends. And no enemies. Except for Angel."

"No human enemies."

"Except for Angel's friends. Even though he hasn't actually done anything to them. My point is, I don't trust someone who doesn't have any enemies. If you're a good person, some people will hate you."

NEXT: Clayton's adventurous past, and seemingly golden future.


	12. Not what you would expect

Clayton stands on the steps outside a church, talking to the reverend and various regular attendees, when his phone rings. He excuses himself and walks away to take the call. "Rex! A little early, aren't we?" He gets a kick out of the fact that he's talking with a vampire just after attending services. If Clay cherishes one thing more than nuance, it's contradiction. "You lost two of your men last night. These things happen. Thinning the herd. Separating the wheat from the chaff. Like I always say, anything that can be summed up in a cliche can't be that bad."

"They were careful."

"Evidently not careful enough. Didn't you tell them to stay away from the enemy?"

"They were in Gardena."

"Near Compton? That is quite out of the way. Maybe it wasn't a Slayer. Teenage girl, middle-aged man." Clay mulls this over. "Then it's definitely not a Slayer," he concludes with a chuckle.

"That's not funny."

"Wasn't meant to be. News flash, Rexy: the Watcher's my age! And your description of this Slayer' matches none of the known quantities."

"Then she's new. We all know more are out there."

"And we at Wolfram & Hart are the only ones at this moment who can find them. Let me assure you that if a new Slayer was in Los Angeles, I would know about it, and she certainly wouldn't be killing people our firm is freaking sponsoring. You don't need super powers to kill a vampire." He glances at his still-bruised knuckles. "If you're worried, work the suburbs. Equalize the crime rate. It'll keep you safe, and stop the affluent from fleeing downtown. Now if you will excuse me, I have an important meeting to get to. God can afford to rest on Sunday. I can't."

Dawn wakes up as the light floods in through an open window. She sees Connor emerge from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He takes the towel off and opens the top dresser drawer. Dawn sits up and appreciates the view. Connor notices the keys Clayton gave him lying amongst his underwear. He picks them up, not knowing Dawn is up. "Morning handsome." A startled Connor closes his fist around the keys and shoves them back into the drawer before closing it and turning around.

"You're awake."

"You're naked."

Connor looks down. "I am." He quickly puts on his boxer shorts.

"It wasn't a criticism." Connor smiles and climbs on the bed. "Lock the door." Connor looks confused.

"Why? We're safe." Connor can be so adorably clueless sometime.

"So no one accidentally sees us."

"I don't care." He'd actually get a perverse kick out of Buffy or Angel catching them in the act, because of all the anguish it would cause them.

"I think they would." Dawn likes to occasionally provoke Buffy with their displays of affection, she doesn't want to traumatize her sister. Connor agrees, and rushes over to turn the dead bolt. He then leaps across the room back to the bed. Halfway there, he realizes this was a bad idea because of her shattered right knee. Connor turns away from Dawn to avoid falling on her and lands to her left, bouncing off the bed and hitting the floor to Dawn's right, his head bouncing off the radiator. She winces. "Connor, are you okay?"

"Okay?," he asks as he stands up, insulted by the question. "I could jump out that window and be okay."

"Let's not test that theory for now. Especially while you're naked."

"But I'm - " She reaches her right hand out and pulls down his boxer shorts. He had no idea she was such a morning person.

Kreon sits on a park bench, staring up at a gigantic mural celebrating Spike on the back wall of a temple. In the center is Spike receiving his soul, a sort of transfiguration scene that dominates the painting. On the left is Spike enduring the torments required to gain the soul. On the right is the Golden God slaying what appears to be a dragon. At the four corners are Spike's and Buffy's naked bodies entwined in various positions. These much smaller scenes surround the central representations, establishing a direct connection between one set of events and the other, almost giving the viewer the impression that the sex itself gave Spike back his soul. The Angel worshippers vigorously object to this implication, pointing out the central importance of the attempted rape, an incident Spike worshippers choose not to dwell on, or represent in their artwork. Myrina sits down to Kreon's right, their infant son William in her arms.

"I wonder what he's doing right now," Kreon explains. "Do you think he's saved the world yet?"

"The question isn't Has he saved the world?,' but How many times?'" They both laugh.

"You think they're together, and she's finally happy?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because of Angel. They can't be together as long as he's around because it will hurt his feelings." Angel devotees give the same excuse about Spike.

"Did you hear about Penny?"

"Mating with that Groo guy. I suppose it's the next best thing." Myrina giggles. "She was probably thinking about Spike when they did it."

"You've never thought about Spike?"

"When I'm with you? Absolutely not."

"Really? Cause if you did once or twice, I'd understand."

"Kreon, you have nothing to worry about."

"I'm not worried."

"Spike's like a father to me."

"He's like a father to me, too. Okay, that's weird."

"Forget the simile."

"Isn't that a metaphor?"

"No. I said he was like something."

"That's a metaphor." She laughs at her husband's lack of education. Little William's trying to break free. Myrina puts the baby down on the grass so he can practice crawling.

"I don't second-guess your battle plans. You shouldn't second-guess my grammar. By the way, how's your shoulder healing?"

"Good. See." He lifts his left arm straight up, then spins his arm all the way around, though this causes him to wince.

"You need to slow down. I want you to be around for William."

"I am slowing down. No more campaigns this year. And nothing big set for next year. Or even for the next five years."

"Unless there's another revolt."

"I can always have Demetrius handle it." Myrina smiles. She's been urging him to delegate more, like his sister Penelope. (Of course, her two pregnancies had a lot to do with her taking a break from commando operations.) Kreon puts his right around around Myrina's shoulders and kisses her. William crawls over and grabs his father's left foot, trying to yank his sandal off.

"Do you ever fantasize about Buffy?"

"Of course not! We've never even met. I don't know what she looks like."

"The pictures. The statues. The mosaics."

"Those are just guesses. The people making them have never seen her in the flesh."

"So you've thought about her flesh?" William finally pulls daddy's sandal off his foot.

"How could I?"

"How could you not? She's everywhere!" Myrina points at the mural. "Usually in very revealing outfits that strike me as completely impractical for fighting."

"Buffy's unattainable. It's ludicrous to even fantasize about her."

"You look up to Spike. You seek to emulate him. It's entirely natural for his desires to become your desires."

"As natural as me becoming a vampire," he scoffs. "We have very different desires." He pulls Myrina closer.

"Oh, look at William!" He's using daddy's sandal to squash bugs.

"His first weapon," Kreon proudly notes.

"What about Fred?"

"What about her?"

"People always say I'm a lot like her."

"How do they know? They've never even bloody met her."

"Come on, Kreon. I'm smart and I like books. I was freed from slavery by a vampire."

"A lot of people around here were freed from slavery by vampires. I'm sure it's also quite common in the Higher Realm."

"Wolfram & Hart owns all the Vengeance Demons?," Angel asks Anya.

"Employs. They practically were owned under DeHofryn. Which is why the girls are so ecstatic: better pay, more flexible hours, and the benefits! They're treated like royalty."

"Does this mean they can wish disaster upon us and make it so?," Angel worries.

"Not unless one of you wronged or scorned one of their lawyers." Wesley looks nervous.

"What about dead ones?"

"Vampires?" Lilah as a vampire - there was a frightening yet alluring idea.

"Course not," Fred insists. "Wesley cut her head off."

Anya gives him a dirty look. "Talk about a brutal breakup."

"After she had been killed by Cordelia."

"Because she was evil?," Buffy asks.

"Cordy or Lilah?," Gunn responds.

"Enough," Wesley interjects. "Why do the Vengeance Demons no longer work for DeHofryn?"

"He's dead."

"How? I figured a demon of his caliber was well nigh invincible."

"A group of witches trapped him in a bottle when he tried to kill me in Scyra. You know, the world Angel irrevocably changed with his religious revolution."

"I had to pretend I was a God. I had no choice!" A woman walking by in the lobby gives him a very funny look. "We need to meet somewhere more private. And where's Dawn?" He anxious to find out what she's learned about Clayton.

"You know where she is," Anya states. "Which is why you're afraid to check on them." She peruses the previous night's receipts. "That's the problem with the hotel business – everything's charged. I miss retail, and the feel of money in my hands. So much money you could roll around naked in it. Not that I ever did. But it's nice to imagine you can."

"Every day should start like this," a blissful Connor declares as he rolls onto his back. Dawn reaches out her left arm and puts her hand on his chest.

"Glad I'm not alone in that opinion."

"Did I hurt you - your, your leg?"

"Not at all."

"Good. I tried to be careful."

"And yet still gloriously uninhibited. Come here, lover." Connor rolls over and nuzzles up next to Dawn, who puts her arms around him. This was the first time they had sex since Dawn moved in. Actually it was the first time since Connor moved out of Sunnydale a month earlier. Connor feels in a good enough mood to reveal an important secret.

"The world was harsh and cruel, until you came along. Then I realized life didn't have to be like that."

"I also remember harshness and cruelty. Pre-you. And, sadly, after."

"But it's easier to get through together."

"I used to feel all alone. So lonely."

"It's good not to be lonely. But it would be better if we were alone. Away from all these people. All these demons. Just you and me."

"Is this your little cabin in the woods fantasy again?"

"It's not a fantasy." Dawn looks worried.

"Is there something you're hiding?"

"Not hiding. Just waiting for the right moment." She lets go of him and inches further to the right end of the bed.

"Waiting for the right moment to tell me what?"

"That Clayton guy gave me something."

"You made a deal with him?"

"No. No deal. He just gave me these keys." Connor gets up, which makes Dawn happy. If it wasn't for her injury, she'd get up out of bed. But she can't, and it wouldn't have been a proper argument if they were both still lying in bed side-by-side under the covers.

"Keys to a cabin in the woods?"

"No. In the mountains. I think."

"And this just happened to be what you were dreaming about getting. Actually, that sounds like Clayton Jenkins. He always seems to know just what everyone wants."

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"He's your enemy!"

"He's my dad's enemy."

"Connor, I thought you were past this stage. Angel and you are on the same side."

"I know."

"Which makes Clayton your enemy, too. Especially since his company has a history of trying to do bad things to you."

"I know. He apologized for that."

"And you believed him?"

"Does it matter?"

"It should."

"He gave me something. I think. I gave him nothing. That I know. So where's the problem?"

"Connor, he didn't do this out of the goodness of his heart. There's an ulterior motive."

"You think I made a mistake?"

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to take houses from strangers?"

"Why? Cause there might me a bomb that goes off when we walk in?"

"I hadn't thought of that." She gets up, putting on a pair of shorts and a long-sleeve shirt.

"You going somewhere?"

"Not to mountains, if that's what you're hoping for."

"Actually, I thought we could go in August. It's a slow month for demon-hunting."

She sighs. "Can I see those?" He hands her the keys. "Is this the address?"

"Yeah."

"Here's what we do . . . "

Connor gets dressed and carries her laptop, while Dawn hops and follows him to Elijah's room. Connor offers to carry her and save her the effort, but she sees this as demeaning. Connor, meanwhile, thinks she is being condescending and treating him like a child. Connor knocks. Elijah's stepdad answers.

"Is Eli here?," Dawn asks politely. "It's important." He head to Eli's bedroom. About thirty seconds later, Eli shows up at the door, his hair sticking up.

"Do you know what time it is? Some of us have lives."

"Since when did you have a life?," Dawn asks. Eli laughs.

"Okay, but let's say I did. It's nice when your friends keep open that possibility, instead of assuming I didn't need any more sleep on account of my eventless evening."

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important," Dawn insists.

"My bad. I'm neurotic when I first get up in the morning." Connor looks grossed-out, steps away from Eli and shields Dawn.

"No Connor, he said - forget it. Can I borrow a hat?"

"You woke me up for that?"

"No. For your computer skills. I need you to research something."

Christopher Holburn opens the door. Outside stands Elijah, with spikey hair and noticeable stubble. "Can Kit come out and play?" He closes the door. Eli puts his hand out. "Kidding aside, Dawn says it's important. She needs us to investigate real estate."

"Cursed real estate?'

"Hopefully not."

"Will you excuse me for a moment?"

"Don't see how I have a choice." Christopher is inherently suspicious of Elijah on account of him being his daughter's boyfriend, but the flippant attitude doesn't help matters.

"How old is Elijah Campbell?"

"Seventeen, daddy."

"And yet he's graduating."

"He skipped a grade."

"He looks older."

"He's younger than some other guys I've dated. Okay, I shouldn't have said that."

"So I should give thanks because, after all, he could be a lot worse?"

"He's smart. He's clean. He doesn't get into trouble. Isn't that what you want in a boyfriend of mine?"

"Yes. When you're twenty five. But, seriously, he does smoke."

"Tobacco."

"Back to the he could be worse' argument, I see. Also, he's . . . he's impish. He's an imp."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning that he's a smartass."

"Why didn't you just say that to begin with?"

"I was being polite. Smartasses tend to think the rules don't apply to them, that it's okay to do something so long as you can get away with it. Also, as a senior about to graduate, he has nothing to lose."

"So there's a high probability that he'll spray paint the school, or take down the goalposts on the football field. If those things still existed!"

"And now all he has is a giant city to play around with and a super-powered friend of very dark origin to show him around."

"Do you like any of my friends?"

"I like Dawn. I, approve of Carlos."

"Who's got a fricken juvee record! Eli's never even been suspended."

"He's dating you. So I hold him to a higher standard."

"I thought you were against relativism?," she quips.

"If you're going out, tell me first. There are fourteen inter-dimensional portals within five miles of here. Three of which are currently active."

"Cool! Where? Just kidding, dad."

Angel and his friends repair to the downstairs club, which is still cluttered with debris from the previous night. His is joined by Buffy and Anya, as well as Xander, who's mostly there because there's nothing else to do and he doesn't want to be alone. "How many Vengeance Demons?," he asks Anya.

"Two hundred. But maybe only one in ten have put down roots here."

"Remind me to never dump a woman in this town ever again," Gunn comments. Wesley's haunted by the thought of what Lilah could have done to him if Vengeance Demons worked for Wolfram & Hart when he ended their affair.

"Remind me to never wish for anything ever again," Fred adds. The door opens. Connor enters, looking a little sheepish. Dawn follows on crutches. She's wearing a Sub-Pop baseball cap.

"Sorry to, umm, keep you waiting," she offers.

"Don't mention it," Angel responds, meaning it literally. Neither of them showered after, and he can smell what they did all too well.

"How'd you find us?," Fred asks. "Oh. Right. Smell." Dawn sits down, props her right leg on another chair, and powers up her computer, which is on a table right in front of her. She looks around at everyone.

"I'm finally the center of attention. Cool."

"Finally?," Connor asks with a grin, rubbing his right foot against her left. Dawn beams. Buffy starts to think this whole thing with Connor is just a reaction against being marginalized in Sunnydale.

"You guys might want to come around to this side," Dawn suggests. "There are graphics. Let's just say this guy wasn't hard to track down. Do corporate lawyers usually have fan sites?"

"Evil ones, perhaps," Wesley responds.

"From evil fans," Fred notes.

"How many sites?," Angel asks.

"Six. In English. There were others in Russian, French, Chinese and Arabic."

"Yeah, well I have forums," Angel defensively claims.

"So these web pages celebrate his evil?," Buffy asks.

"No. The opposite. If I only knew this guy from what's on the internet, I'd thing he was on his way to sainthood." Angel and his friends gasp. Clayton seemed so slippery, so scummy, so evil. They could tell what side he was on just by looking at him.

"So Wolfram & Hart's spearheading a deliberate campaign of misinformation," Angel theorizes.

"No," Dawn curtly responds. Connor likes how she puts dad in his place. "Unless they made up his entire life and implanted false memories in everyone he's ever known." She takes a deep breath. "I'll be the first to admit it's possible. But my guess is the inspirational life story's the real deal."

"Oh God," Angel grouses, looking up at the ceiling. "Let me guess: he grew up poor, just like Lindsey."

"Morgan County, Kentucky. In the Appalachians. And it gets better. See, in addition to being dirt poor, he came down with Leukemia when he was eight. When he was ten, and in the hospital on his death bed, he made a sudden, miraculous recovery. A bunch of newspapers wrote about it. Here's a picture of him." Angel sees the pale, frail, bald child, and thinks he knows why Clayton has long hair and that unnatural tan.

"A Miracle in Cincinnati," Fred says, reading the headline.

"The weird thing was, the doctors said his organ were so compromised that even if the cancer magically vanished, chances are he still would have died. Or, at the very least, have taken a few months to recover. But he was up and walking the next day. That didn't seem medically possible."

"Unless someone implanted a demon in the child," Wesley hypothesizes.

"He's not part-demon," Angel assures them.

"That's true," Connor concurs. "He smells totally human." Then Angel gets an idea.

"A Faustian Bargain. He sold his soul for a cure."

"It ain't that easy," Gunn assures them. Anya wonders how he knows.

"They'd have to come to him," Anya points out. "And demons rarely make deals with dying children. Unless they know the kid has serious potential."

"I didn't know Wolfram & Hart started recruiting lawyers before they've even finished grammar school," Wes points out.

"They didn't," Angel remarks. "That's why he's so cavalier. That's why he insults the Senior Partners in his office. He's part of something bigger."

"Something even the Senior Partners have to respect?," Wes asks, looking worried.

"Excuse me," Buffy says, jumping into the conversation. "Who are these Senior Partners, and why haven't you killed them?"

"I did kill one of them," Angel points out. "They live in another dimension and act through surrogates, so they're a little hard to get to."

Xander starts chuckling. "He sold his soul to the Devil?," he asks Angel. "Satan? Lucifer? The biggest of the Big Bads? I'm sorry. It just seems a bit much. There's gotta be a more down to Earth explanation."

"We can't rule it out," Dawn offers, upsetting Xander and shocking Connor, who can't believe she's supporting Angel. "His life is, well, a bit much. He becomes this local celebrity in all the churches. Everyone wants to see and touch little Clayton Jenkins. The call him the Miracle Child."

"Hey!," Connor interjects.

"Okay, much less miraculous than you."

"And also, unlike Connor, evil," Angel adds.

"That goes without saying." Buffy feels like objecting to this assumption, but holds off. "In high school, he gets great grades, captains the basketball team, class president. Big guy on campus. But he doesn't have any friends."

"How do you know that?," Gunn wonders.

"There are posts from all these people who've known him. Teachers, coaches, family members. But no friends. Plus, I made a bunch of random calls to the area, and asked if they knew him. I pissed a lot of people off. But I did get to talk to three people who say they went to high school with him. And they all said the same thing: Clay had a huge chip on his shoulder and was really hard to get along with. One of them also went to kindergarten with him, and said the kids used to make fun of Clay because he was even poorer than most, and wore these ratty hand-me-down clothes. I guess he never got over that. He also used to get into fights with people who made fun of him and his parents.

"In high school?," Buffy asks.

"No. In, like, first and second grade. In high school, he'd threaten people he thought were saying things behind his back."

"Sounds paranoid," Angel observes.

"Maybe. So when he finishes high school, he enlists in the Marines, even though state schools were offering him full scholarships. He serves two years, becomes a Lance Corporal, and fights in the Gulf War. The first one."

"Let me guess," Angel groans. "He's a war hero."

"Pretty much. His squad passes by this destroyed Iraqi tank that still had two people alive inside. They used the tank's machine gun to fire at a platoon of Marines from behind. Clayton draws their fire towards himself and away from the other men, charges the tank, and kills both men, taking two bullets through the chest in the process.

"So he's killed people," Angel notes, trying to spin everything negatively.

"There's more. The bullets went clear through him, and he kept on fighting, leading his squad in the dark for six more miles before passing out from blood loss right when they reached Kuwait City. He won a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. And a lot of attention in the papers back home. Local Hero stories and the like. Here's his picture." Angel's shocked to see Clayton with all his hair shorn off. Dawn opens another file she saved. "This was a news clip where you get to hear him talk."

"I don't remember him having an accent," Fred comments.

"Because he's a phony," Angel responds. "He's a complete fraud."

"We already know where you stand on this guy. So what does he do next: rescue children from a burning building?," Xander asks with mild sarcasm.

"He goes to Louisville on the G.I. Bill. Then he works his way through Depaw Law School. He's their most powerful alum since Dan Quayle."

"Does that make the school evil?," Fred asks.

"Dan Quayle is not evil," Anya snaps. "His wife could have been, if she put some time and energy into it."

"Also, when he's at Louisville, he does Army R.O.T.C."

"The army?," Angel asks. "I though he was a Marine."

"That is strange. The services tend to have a pretty intense rivalry," Xander points out.

"There's a Stars and Stripes story where he's asked about that. He said the army offered certain opportunities the Marines didn't. In civil affairs and stuff."

"Civil affairs. You mean nation building?," Wes asks.

"Nation building's not evil," Angel responds.

"I think we've established he doesn't seek out jobs that are obviously evil," Anya argues.

"What about joining Wolfram & Hart?," Wes asks.

"The exception that proves the rule."

"He went to Bosnia in '97, where he had a conflict with his commanders over strategy. They were sent to protect the Bosnian Muslims from the Bosnian Serbs. But Clayton wanted to invade the Serbian sector because war criminals were hiding there."

"Still are," Wes notes.

"He had this one quote here which I'm sure will totally knock your socks off."

Angel reads. "When wrongdoing is not punished, when evil is tolerated right under our noses, it makes a mockery of our power, emboldens the enemies of civilization, and threatens good, decent people everywhere." Angel needs to take a short walk around the room to recover from Clayton's chutzpah.

"Was he already working for Wolfram & Hart when he said that?," Gunn inquires.

"No. He joined them in '98. But in the Summer of '99 he was recalled for duty in Kosovo."

"Even after publicly criticizing his superior officers?," Xander asks.

"Like I said, someone's looking out for him," Angel explains.

"There was this town in the north, where Serbs and Albanians were at each other's throats, because six months earlier the Serbs kicked out all the Albanians, who came back four months later and were looking for revenge. The NATO forces got between the two groups, but once they left, even for a day, the fighting started again. It seemed like a hopeless situation."

"Until Clayton the Glorious came along," Angel bitterly anticipates.

"Well, yeah. He walked into the town unarmed, sat the leaders down, and worked out a peaceful settlement that's held to this day. He did the same thing in a couple villages. Every place he went, there's peaceful coexistence. In most of the neighboring towns, one side's kicked out the other."

"Do you think he used magic?," Anya asks the others. "Usually when people are way too convincing, it's because they put spells on everyone they encounter."

"Then why would he need a magical girlfriend to protect him?," Connor asks.

"Good point," Dawn responds. Connor smiles.

"I still say Faustian Bargain," Angel maintains.

"Because of this success, Clayton's seen as an expert on a subject that's become very important. He's written pieces in the L.A. Times, San Francisco Chronicle, National Review, New Republic, Chicago Sun-Times."

"If he's so great, why isn't he in Iraq?," Angel asks, trying to puncture this golden boy's bubble.

"Maybe he would be, if he didn't have to deal with you," Anya quips. "If things do fall apart over there, at least we know who to blame."

"That was five years ago. What has he done lately?," Angel wonders.

"A lot of charity work."

"Wolfram & Hart's always done that for their image."

"Do they give the time and do the work themselves?"

"Of course not."

"Well, he does. When he's not at work, he seems to spend most of his time volunteering. He tutors teenage inmates. Teaches adults on welfare so they can enter the job market. Builds homes. Guy's a regular Jimmy Carter."

"He's the Antichrist," Angel declares.

"Jimmy Carter?," Buffy asks.

"Clayton. Look at how easily he tricks people. How good he is at getting people to do what he wants."

"How he's all things to all people," Dawn adds.

"Exactly."

"Wait a second," Xander cautions. "There's a big difference between fighting an apocalypse and fighting THE apocalypse."

"I'm not saying he's the actual Antichrist. He just thinks he is. He had pretensions."

"Oh, and I wasn't agreeing with you," Dawn points out. "No offense. I wasn't disagreeing with you, either. I just wanted to point something out. The guy's popular with rich and the poor, black and white. The Republicans call him one of their rising stars in the state. They're talking about running him for Senate in the future."

"He's a Republican. Maybe he is the anti-Christ," Gunn quips.

"Hey!," Anya objects.

"You're a Republican?," Wes asks, moderately disappointed.

"They're the party of rugged individualism and not taking my money away. And not all politicians who've sold their souls are Republicans."

"Is that all, Dawn?," Fred asks. "Not that it wasn't a lot."

"It was great," Connor raves. "She did all that in just a couple hours."

"Thanks, but, that isn't all." Connor looks nervous. Why is she telling?


	13. Who wants a boring sex life?

Angel criticizes Connor for accepting Clayton' offer, and Connor takes it out on Dawn. The gang learns that Lorne's become a Lothario. Clay pays an unwelcome visit to Lindsey. Dawn and Connor deal with their first fight. And Annette makes quite a splash when she shows up at the Hyperion and starts treating Connor like a dog.

"What else is there?," Angel asks. Connor looks at Dawn with his big bambi eyes and holds her right hand.

"I think Connor should tell you."

"Is this about the other night?" Connor doesn't say anything. Right then, Lorne barges in, strutting, dancing and wearing sunglasses.

"I've got the world on a string," he sings. "Good morning!, munchkins. What are we discussing today?"

"You seem surprisingly chipper," Angel notices.

"I take it things went well with Grella?," Anya inquires.

"Fabulous. And thank you for asking."

"Are you saying that you got lucky last night?," Gunn asks.

"I'd hardly call it luck."

"More like word of mouth," Anya explains, alarming pretty much everyone else. "Ainu and Istra had nothing but praise for Long Lorne'."

"Why would they call him - ?," Fred wonders, before beginning to look sick. Angel, Gunn and Wes also appear uncomfortable.

"I'm surprised you're so surprised," Anya says to Fred, who naturally feels deeply insulted. "You spent five years in Pylea, yet you don't know they're hung like elephants?"

"How the hell do you know that?," Xander demands to know.

"I briefly dated one about five hundred years ago. Big, beefy, simple-minded, monosyllabic warrior. They really go for Vengeance Demons. Especially the blood larvae.

"Blood larvae?," Fred asks, looking even more sickened.

"I was wondering what that smell was," a mildly disgusted Angel says to Lorne.

"Silly me. I forgot I was the only one here with an exciting and controversial sex life," Lorne retorts. Buffy's glad not to be part of this conversation. Xander shuts up. Wes, Fred and Gunn still feel some self-righteousness on account of them never having attempted to cross the species barrier. "Don't be ashamed. Who wants a boring sex life?"

"What you do, or who you do, in your private time is none of my business," Angel maintains. "That said, don't all of these Vengeance Demons work for Wolfram & Hart?"

"We have a policy against sleeping with the enemy?" Wesley looks sheepish. "Anyway, they're not the enemy. The part of the firm they work for has nothing to do with ruining your life and turning you evil."

"I'm not familiar with that part of their operation." Angel liked to imagine that everything they did revolved around him. "Do you know who their boss is?"

"Some little guy named David," Anya reports. "They say he's a total pushover."

"Some little guy named David offered to help me when I was evil. I'm wondering if it's the same guy."

"Maybe meddling with you is only part of his job description," Lorne guesses hopefully. He's one kid who does not want to be banned from the candy store.

"Blood larvae?," Dawn asks. "Oh, I get it. Wait. No I don't."

"Please don't try to," Buffy suggests.

"Do you roll around in it?"

"Let's get back to what we were talking about before."

"Did you read anything when he sang?," Angel asks Lorne, who sits on the stage. Angel, Wes and Gunn avert their eyes, since these eyes are level with Lorne's crotch, which they'd rather not think about after Anya's revelation.

"He's not going to die of old age."

"Meaning what exactly?," Wesley wonders.

"Meaning the guy doesn't have much time, and he knows it."

"Finally, some good news," Angel comments.

"I wouldn't break out the balloons just yet, chief. His short-term future looks very bright. On the other hand, you're not his number one enemy."

"Who is?" Angel's hurt by this information.

"Couldn't tell. There's quite a few."

"That he worries about more than me?" This was insulting.

"Sorry big guy. Hate to disappoint."

"I'm new here, so I might have missed something, but has he tried to kill you yet?," Buffy asks.

"No. Not directly."

"Or indirectly," Lorne adds.

"Has he tried to hurt any of your friends?"

"Not really."

"Okay. That's odd. Cause where I come from, that's what enemies do. Maybe you're trying so hard to create a nemesis that you're making this guy into something he's not."

"But if he's not interested in Angel, why did he go to the trouble of reaching out to Connor?," Dawn asks. "We can't write this guy off." Buffy's worried that Dawn refers to Angel's problems in the first-person plural. "Especially after what he offered."

"What did he offer?," Angel demands to know. He sensed Connor was hiding something. Connor shifts in his chair, upset that Dawn spilled the beans.

"He gave me some keys, said they were for a house in the north."

"He offered you vacation property?," Buffy asks, stunned. "Why couldn't my enemies ever offer me vacation property?" Things sure worked differently in the big city.

"You made a deal with him?," Angel inquires, the volcanic rage slowly building upwards inside him.

"No deal. He gave me the keys, and left."

"Did you sign anything?"

"No! Why are you so freaked out?"

"The man who wants to take my soul and do God knows what to you - "

"You mean the dissection. He apologized. I think he wants a truce."

"Dissection?," Dawn faintly asks.

"He said they wanted to cut me open when I was a baby, and then again when I was grown up. That was the time they attacked with the helicopters during the movie."

"And the van?"

"Yeah."

"Right. I remember you mentioning that." Xander's about to ask a question about all the wacky stuff they're referring to, but elects not to.

"Connor, he's trying to bribe you," Angel explains. Connor groans.

"Isn't a bribe when you to have to do something to get something?"

"It does appear to be a quid without a quo," Wes remarks.

"If I may, I'd like to mention some inside gossip I picked up during my, dalliances. It seems no single person's in charge. There's David, and there's this other lawyer. The girls call him the Apostate. They're beginning to have a civil war. I'm going out on a short limb and guessing this Apostate fellow is our Clayton."

"Great work Lorne," Anya compliments. "You're a regular Mata Hari." Of all the people who worked for Angel, Lorne was the last one he thought could trade sex for secrets.

"Why do they call him the Apostate?," Wesley wonders. Perhaps he has some sort of mystical powers.

"Openly mocking the Senior Partners comes to mind," Angel replies.

"Sounds like they got a guy who plays by his own rules," Gunn concludes.

"Does he hope to turn Connor evil?," Fred proposes. Dawn and Angel glare at her. "Not that I think that's at all likely, Connor."

"He wants Connor out of the picture," Angel assumes. "So that the next time there's a crisis and things get dicey in LA, he'll be tempted to go someplace safer."

"What do you mean?," Connor asks. "The sun's not gonna disappear again, is it?"

"Maybe you're overlooking the obvious," Buffy adds. "What if he's just trying to lure Connor into a trap?"

"Isn't that a little overelaborate?," Anya wonders. "If he really wanted Connor dead, couldn't he just pull out a gun and shoot him." As usual, Anya was being helpful but not comforting.

"The Devil needn't be a monster. He can be a tempter," Wesley points out.

"He seems to be good at telling people what they want to hear," Dawn mentions. For instance, he gave Connor something Connor was fantasizing about getting.

"Like last night," Buffy begins, alarming Angel. "What he told me about what happened in Sunnydale was more comforting than anything anyone else has told me."

"Even me?," Angel demands to know.

"Sorry. Like Dawn said, he's good with words." Charming Connor AND Buffy. Angel had to kill this guy.

But first, he'd have to get in line. Lindsey sits on the beach at Big Sur, playing his guitar. Clayton, with no shoes or socks, his white pants rolled up, and a light blue t-shirt, walks over to him. Why he would drive three hours to see someone who detests him and happens to be in mourning isn't quite clear. The man feels a compulsion to show up where he's not wanted. As he approaches, Clay sings the Hank Williams song Lindsey is mordantly playing on his guitar:

"The silence of a falling star

lights up a purple sky.

And as I wonder where you are

I'm so lonesome I could cry."

Lindsey stands up, turns around, backs away and scowls. "Ain't you the rat who took my old job?"

"Actually, I earn more and have more authority than you ever did," Clay replies with a grin. Clay has found that when a person thinks you're scum, sometimes it helps to play into their assumptions.

"What the hell brings you all the way up here?" Lindsey's disappointed that the only possible weapon he has is his guitar, which Clayton is hardly worth destroying.

"A delivery." He hands Lindsey a piece of paper.

"Standard and Perpetuity — is this your idea of a joke?"

"That's the real McCoy. If you don't believe me, try setting it on fire." Lindsey reads it very carefully, trying to ignore the big "VOID" stamped across it. This has to be a trick. "You're free, Mr. MacDonald."

"Since when?," he asks, still suspicious.

"You know the answer to that." A long silence ensues. Did Faith's death buy him his way out of Hell? Talk about guilt. When it comes to brooding over one's soul, Lindsey might now be able to give Angel a run for his money. He tears it in half. It comes back. He crumples it up and throws it down. It appears on the sand without so much as a crease. Clayton walks over, bends down, picks it up and hands the contract to Lindsey before politely backing away and getting out of his enemy's face.

"Now why would Wolfram & Hart want me to have this?" Clayton was getting to the fun part.

"They wouldn't. Your soul was the one piece of leverage they had over you. It's clearly not in their interest to tell you you're not going to Hell. But it's in my interest."

"You expect me to believe you're rebelling?" Talk about a copycat.

"Nope. It's much more fun to defy them and get rewarded for it. In Los Angeles at least, Wolfram & Hart values competence over ideology. So long as you please their clients, antagonize their enemies and bring in record earnings, they will overlook motives. Along with certain extracurricular activities."

"You're supposed to be their new golden boy?," Lindsey asks with a laugh. "Standards really aren't what they used to be." With his light blonde hair and bronzed skin, Clay look a little too much like a literal golden boy to be taken seriously, especially in his line of work.

"I've got Angel boiling over with impotent rage."

"Very funny."

"I've learned from your mistakes. As well as the even greater mistakes of your successors. The way to hurt Angel is to avoid him. He can't stand not being the center of attention. Avoid him long enough, and he becomes so desperate for the limelight that you can make him play your game. I've set him up for one humiliation after another. Wanna know my secret?"

"You're a complete fraud?" Clay laughs at Lindsey's denial. Part of him hopes that Lindsey's jealous of his seemingly effortless success.

"I don't give him any innocents to save or bad guys to kill."

"Then you're not accomplishing anything."

"Why don't you talk to him about me? Observe how he reacts to the mere mention of my name. Maybe then you could give him some tips. We do have a lot in common." Short, dark-haired Lindsey glares upward at tall, fair-haired Clayton.

"I don't think so."

"Maybe you right," Clay replies, slipping into the backwoods accent of his youth. "Reckon I growed up a lot poorer than you."

"Where'd you grow up, Bangladesh?," he jokes. Couldn't have been anywhere in America, since Lindsey came from the poorest-of-the-poor in that country.

"Kentucky Hills. First time my home had plumbing was when I went away to college. I'm guessin' it was the same for you?"

"You expect me to believe that you come from mountain folk?" Clayton looks and sounds like he was born and bred in Beverly Hills.

"Don't matter if you believe it. It's still the truth."

"Did daddy die of black lung disease?," Lindsey jokes, playing along with Clay's hardscrabble con.

"Huntington's. When I was seventeen."

"Huntington's. That's, uh, isn't that hereditary?"

"There's a fifty percent chance I won't make it to fifty. No matter. My two brothers didn't make it to age five. Two of my three sisters are still around. Girls tend to fight off sickness better than the boys. They're tougher, ah guess. Even the one's who ain't Slayers." Lindsey balls up his right fist and thinks of punching Clay. He puts his hands up in front of him, leans back and loses the accent. "You want to know why I'm here? Because I admire you. You bucked the system and you got away with it. You defied them. That gave me courage." The praise turns sour once Clay claims Lindsey as a role model.

"The courage to brag about how you're not taking on Angel?," Lindsey replies.

"No. The courage to flaunt the Senior Partners. Angel's just an off-hour hobby. Like music. Did you also play in band to help pay your way through college and law school?"

"You were in a band. What did they play - eighties synth pop?" Clayton does have a shiny, vacuous quality.

"Bluegrass. Like I played back home. 'Cept with drums and electric guitars. Drunken J. Crew frat boys eat that stuff up." Clayton backs away. "Good luck keeping that soul of yours clean." Lindsey's left to stare at the voided contract and wonder. If it's a fake, it's an incredibly elaborate fake, right down to the signature in blood in Lindsey's own handwriting. This Clayton fellow sure was shameless: expecting Lindsey to thank him for taking the time to deliver this; trying to buddy up; telling outrageous lies about how he's working Angel over. Lindsey will have to make a visit down south and get the real story from the man himself.

Elijah sits at the desk in Angel's office, working on the computer. "This guy's got a sense of humor."

"Evil and funny," Kit notes with decidedly less enthusiasm.

"And possibly a skier. This place is near some choice mountains."

"Oh no. Don't tell me you're with Connor on this."

"I'd like to be with you." He reaches out, grabs her right arm with his left and pulls her onto his lap, causing the chair to slide and nearly tip over. Kit giggles. "Snowboarding during the day. Taking a dip in the hot tub at night."

"I don't snowboard."

"Do you hot tub?"

"I might. With the right person." He goes to kiss her. She pulls her head back. "What makes you think you're that person?"

"Boundless optimism."

"Which is such a turn-off."

"Need I point out I'm depressed and pessimistic about everything in my life other that you?"

"That's more like it," she jokes. They smooch. Then they start making out. Eli puts his hand on her thigh. She put her hands to his face and musses up his hair. Then Angel enters.

"What's going on?" Kit stands up, pushing off on the chair, causing Elijah to fall down. Wes, Gunn and Fred also witness this.

"Research," Elijah pithily responds when he stands up.

"Researching what?," Angel asks, upset by people fooling around in his office because, well, he has to work there. He has to sit in that chair.

"We found out tons of stuff," Kit offers as a defense. "Actually, Eli found it. We were, celebrating our success." She looks at him and smiles.

"Yes. Exactly. And don't tell me none of you have ever fooled around after a nice demon hunt." Angel, Buffy, Gunn, Fred, Dawn and Connor decide to drop this topic.

"What did you find?," Dawn asks.

"Your house has its own web site. Here, take a look." He turns the screen around. "Twelve hundred square feet on two acres of land. There's a stream running through your back yard, and a jacuzzi on the back deck." Connor clearly likes what he sees. "I checked the town's property records, and the place is assessed at $215,000."

"I'm rich?," Connor asks with a smile.

"No. I had to do some hacking to get info on the deed, but I find out the house is owned by a charity called Wide Open Spaces, which describes its mission as providing desperately needed recreation for children from war zones.' I guess that's supposed to be you, Connor."

"So, what's up?," Connor wonders. "Is it my house or isn't it?"

"If it were yours, you'd have to pay about $75,000 in taxes. Which you could easily do by selling the house, and pocketing $140,000."

"That's enough to put someone through college," Fred points out. Buffy glares at her, since this almost sounds like an endorsement.

"But this guy wants you to use the house, and he's not giving you any choice in the matter. The tax dodge only saves him about $250 a year in property taxes - thank you Proposition 13."

"So who owns it?," Anya asks.

"I think it's the trustees of the shell charity. But I haven't found their names yet. Something tells me they might include people in this room, but with that Clayton guy having veto power. That would kinda make sense, considering his practical joke sense of humor. I mean, this web site, the interactive tour of the house, it's designed entirely for us. I mean you."

"So is it mine or not?," Connor demands to know.

"Assuming these keys work, you can use it as long as he wants you to. He can always change the locks at any time."

"You see Connor. He's trying to influence you," Angel argues.

"Who isn't?," Connor replies, grabbing the keys and running off.

"Connor wait," Angel pleads.

"No. I'll handle this," Dawn suggests, further humiliating Angel. She hops off after him.

"Normally I'm against child abuse. But in Connor's case, I really think you need to slap some sense into him," Buffy suggests half-jokingly about the incorrigible brat who seemed to throw at least one tantrum a day.

"Spare the child and spoil the rod, I have not sold myself to God," Elijah offers to everyone's blank incomprehension. "No Patti Smith fans in the room, I see."

"No, I got it," Kit assures him. "Just wasn't relevant."

Connor can hear Dawn approach, and opens the door to his room. "How could you do that to me? How could you betray me like that?"

"Didn't you want to know what you were getting yourself into?"

"That's why we told Eli. Why tell Angel? It doesn't concern him."

"The man who gave you those keys is Angel's enemy. Maybe even his mortal enemy. How doesn't it concern him?"

"Shouldn't I be able to trust you? I tell you a secret — in our bed! — and you tell everyone right away."

"You wanted to keep it a secret because you knew it was wrong. You knew Angel would get mad at you if he found out."

"So you care about his feelings more than you care about mine?"

"This is about something a little more important than feelings. I did what I thought was best for you."

"As if I don't know what's best for me?"

"You weren't looking at the big picture."

"So I'm a child? I'm not mature enough to make my own decisions?"

"Connor, you're blowing this way out of proportion."

"No. No, I'm think I'm finally seeing the big picture." Connor marches off. He finds Elijah in the lobby talking to Fred. "Come on, Eli. Let's go somewhere."

"Just the two of us?"

"Why not?"

"Go ahead," Kit says to her boyfriend. "I got homework to do."

"Okay. I'll just go put down these house keys and pick up my car keys."

"I'll be out front," Connor says before dashing out.

"Hyperactive little sucker, isn't he?," Xander notes about Connor storming out of the office, rushing back downstairs, and darting out the door. Buffy senses relationship problems. She's not sure whether that's good or bad.

"Trouble in paradise?," Kit asks when she finds Dawn in Connor's room.

"Did Connor say something?"

"No. He just ran off with my boyfriend. Any idea why?"

"I'm sure Connor and Eli are just friends," Dawn jokes.

"It's that cabin in the woods, right?"

"No. It's Connor. He likes to pretend we're the only two people on Earth, and when I show him that's not the case, he gets upset."

"He always has to have everything his way. Is that it?"

"No," Dawn tells her skeptical friend. "He just thought that once we were together, everything would be perfect."

"You mean he expects everything to go his way?"

"What are you trying to do, Kit?"

"Sorry. Is this when I'm supposed to say this is meaningless and everything's going to be okay?"

"It is. And it will. Connor's moody. We both know that. With him it's always ecstasy or agony."

Elijah and Connor walk down the boardwalk. Eli looks out at the waves. Connor scarfs down the two corn dogs in his hands. "You wanna go in the water?," Connor asks.

"Nah. It's low tide. Anyway, the big waves are further south. Plus I don't have my board with me, which sort of moots the first two reasons."

"Why did she turn on me?"

"To be fair, if Kit thought I had acquired a substantial amount of property from a questionable source, she'd probably want my mom to know."

"You think she did the right thing?" Geez. Everyone was against him.

"I think it would have been better if she tried harder to convince you to tell him on your own. But she'd just compiled a dossier on the guy, and it might have seemed germane. Don't sweat it. It's not like you're dad's gonna take it away from you, is it?"

"He better not."

"And he would have figured something was up the first time you went away for the weekend and couldn't explain where."

"I wonder if he's jealous."

"Why? Does his winter cabin lack a jacuzzi?," Elijah jokes.

"He's always the one those lawyers cared about. Now I'm the one they mess with."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"He's been the Champion. The top dog. Now there's a new generation."

"Assuming you're correct, which I doubt you are, did these evil lawyers go after Angel's friends?"

"All the time." Elijah looks nervous.

"Back to why I doubt you're their prime target."

"You think I'm not important enough?" Eli's struck by Connor's touchiness.

"Think about it. You're young. You're not ripe yet. Wait, that has sexual connotations. You haven't peaked. As a fighter, champion, whatever. You probably won't until you're twenty five, maybe even thirty. By which point I'll have completed my doctorate, gotten a job on the east coast and will keep in touch with you primarily by phone and email. In the meantime, they'll continue focusing on your father until he's dead, or evil, or retired."

"He doesn't age. Why would he retire?"

"My point exactly. He's got a lot of good evil-fighting years left in him. Anyway, this whole ploy seems like a way for them to use you to mess with his head."

"You think I'm just a tool?," Connor asks angrily.

"It's not what I think. It's what they think. And since they're evil, why should you care what they think?"

"Glad to hear the job went off without a hitch," Anya says into the phone to Fred, who's on other end with Gunn. "Now did you get their credit card number? I know their last check cleared. But if these people are going to call on us once every six months, it's far more convenient if we can automatically bill them on our own. And that way, if they don't have the money, we get paid and Visa ends up holding the bag."

"Ah'm beginning to side with Angel," Fred says to Gunn. "Maybe Anya's money-grubbing and profit-nagging isn't what we need."

"I'm happy putting up with it if it moves me into a bigger apartment."

Connor sits at Angel's desk, happily looking over pictures of "his" new home. Elijah sits on the couch across from the desk, perusing some of Wesley's volumes. "I'm amazed at how they can write about something as exciting as demons, yet make it all sound so boring."

"There's two rooms upstairs. You and Kit won't mind taking the smaller one?"

"Depends how thick the walls are," Elijah deadpans. "I thought the whole point of this thing was for you and Dawn to be alone?"

"You're the one who's got a car."

"That's right. I can make a duplicate of those keys, and head up there with Kit anytime I want," he jokes. "Not that I'm being presumptuous in assuming we'll still be together six months from now and, hel-lo." He sees a tall girl enter the hotel. She wears high heels, a short black skirt, a sleeveless blue designer blouse, a black choker around her neck with a small silver cross hanging from it, and designer sunglasses. Her short, straight light-brown hair comes down in a tight, neat bob to just below her ears.

"Who's there?," Connor asks, noticing Eli's distraction.

"No one. Just some random hottie." Connor hustles over to the door and takes a look for himself.

"That's no random hottie. I know this girl. Met her yesterday. She's from France."

"Ooh-la-la." Annette walks up to the front desk and takes off her shades.

"Afternoon."

"I remember you!," Anya says. "Do you want a room?"

"No. I want action."

"We're not that kind of hotel."

"The kind with Slayers and, oh hi Connor!" She does a little wave and smiles. He waves back, as does Elijah, even though he's never met her. The two of them leave the office and walk up to her.

"We are THAT kind of hotel. So long as you're not talking about anything kinky and, lesbianish. They're not those kinda Slayers." Annette giggles.

"You're very funny."

"Why thank you for noticing!"

"Hi Annette," Connor says.

"Connor. You're just the man I need right now." Connor smiles. "Can you go find Wesley?" That was deflating.

"I'm Elijah," he says to a disinterested Annette. "Connor says you're training to be a Trainer, I mean, a Watcher. Can you tell me why books about demons are so boring?" She laughs. Elijah's pleased.

"So that amateurs wouldn't be tempted to read them. A little knowledge in the wrong heads can be a very dangerous thing. Connor, I said find Wesley." He sighs, scowls and is off. Who did she think she was, walking in and ordering him around like that? And why did part of him like it?

Angel enters, having finished his afternoon blood. Buffy's visiting Willow in the hospital, so he has some time to kill. "Have Fred and Charles called?," he asks Anya.

"The job is done. Hopefully the check will clear."

"It will," he assures the ever-greedy Anya.

"I know. With dozens of Vengeance Demon friends of mine roaming this city, I really shouldn't worry about delinquent clients." Angel hopes she's only kidding.

"You're Angel!," Annette announces.

"Why yes! You've heard of me?" He loves being a celebrity.

"Angel, this is that Claude guy's daughter."

"Annette Marcel." She shakes his hand and holds on for a few seconds. "I've never shaken hands with a vampire before. Then again, I've never met a vampire I didn't try to kill. Before now." Angel take his hand away. He's a little spooked by her.

"Nice to meet you too."

"Do you use mousse?," she asks, looking up at his hair.

"Yes."

"Thought so." A Watcher's daughter meets him, and that's all she wants to ask about? Connor returns with Wesley.

"Annette! What a surprise. I had no idea you were in town." She hugs him, which is a little odd for Wesley.

"We're staying near the airport. I killed a vampire last night! So did daddy." Connor and the Slayers were out for five hours, and they didn't so much as see a vampire.

"Where?," Connor asks.

"Not sure. I'm new in town," she jokes. "Somewhere a few miles from the airport." She steps in front of Connor and smiles. "Good boy. You get a cookie." She pats him on the head for fetching Wesley. Now that Connor didn't like, not even in a kinky way. "I kid." She puts her right hand on his left shoulder. "I thought a boy who's been through as much as you could take a joke." Connor smiles. Maybe she's just being friendly in a strange foreign way.

"So you were joking when you implied I was unworthy to learn about demons?," Elijah asks.

"No," she curtly responds.

"Nice meeting you, Annette. I'm sure the pleasure was all . . . someone standing here who's neither you nor me." He leaves. Apparently she doesn't appreciate self-deprecating humor.

"What brings you over here?," Wesley asks. "Do you want your library back?"

"Yes. But I'll give you a few days to Xerox items of interest. I came to watch your Slayers train. History in the making."

"I'm not sure they're terribly interested in being put on display." Annette laughs.

"I wasn't going to charge admission. Have they trained yet?"

"No. Not, not since the battle."

"Then now would be a good time to start, no? I'm sure Connor here wants to see how he matches up." Connor smiles. That sounds fun. He runs off to get Dawn. Annette's father enters through the back entrance and sneaks up on them.

"Oh look!," Anya says. "It's the Watcher who shaves."

"Are you a citizen?," he asks. "How does that work, becoming suddenly human after so long?"

"Was that a threat?," she nervously asks. "Because I know some women who are still in the trade -"

"Can't take a joke. You definitely are an American." Anya takes that as a compliment of her ability to assimilate. "There's jasmine in the courtyard."

"Night-blooming," Angel notes.

"I know. How terribly predictable for a vampire. I expected more from you, Angel." He's too hurt by the insult to notice the compliment hidden within. "Your vampires are quite well-organized. While one feeds, the others stand sentry. I imagine that is a tribute to their enemies, including yourselves." Angel's sure that's a compliment, though a somewhat convoluted one. He used to really like French people. But that was more than a century ago.

"You were attacked?," Angel asks. Annette laughs.

"Isn't that the point?" Angel looks at Claude, one father to another.

"You take your daughter on patrols?"

"No," she objects. "I take him."

"She wanted to go out alone. They grow up so fast these days."

"You don't have to tell me."

NEXT: Vampire child against Slayer. Plus, Annette humiliates Angel a few tricks she has up her sleeve. Wonder if Connor will like watching that.


	14. Grrrlz versus boyz

Buffy and Xander visit comatose Willow, who is dreaming of Tara. Annette humiliates Angel, showing that a girl doesn't have to be a Slayer to be tough. Then Connor and Rona get into a vicious battle of the sexes.

To Dawn, Connor certainly seemed excited about fighting the new Slayers. But not for any acceptable reasons. Actually, there weren't any acceptable reasons. The joy of beating up on, or getting beat up by, girls seemed entirely too Spike-esque. The elevator door opens, and there, standing in the lobby, is Annette. Wonderful. Dawn's afternoon just keeps getting better and better. "Bonjour," Annette says with a wave. Dawn thinks it's for Connor, but then remembers Annette saw Connor only a few minutes ago, so the wave has to be for her. Dawn tries to manage a smile, but can't. Annette's too much of a threat: too pretty, too brainy, too friendly. Much too friendly. Angel goes into his office and brings out Mal's head. Annette looks delighted as she holds it before passing it to her father.

"You were right," Claude says to Wesley. "It is quite heavy."

"The bones Wesley sent us are on display in our lobby," Annette tells Angel and Connor. "I wrote the inscription myself: Here lie the bones of Mal, the greatest vampire in recorded history. Sired in Crete, 1471 B.C.E. Slayed in Los Angeles, May, 2004, by Angel and Connor.' What do you think?" They both smile.

"I'm in the Council Headquarters, for killing the greatest vampire of them all?," Angel asks with astonishment and pride.

"I'm in there too," Connor adds, looking very honored. "I have the stone I used to cut his spine. I can show you. Maybe you could put it in there. With the bones."

"I would love that."

"Cool," Connor responds with a big smile, succumbing to the seduction of fame. "I'll get it after training." Dawn recalls that for Connor "training" is another word for foreplay. She regrets Buffy's not there to join her in disliking Annette. Certainly Buffy would be offended to learn that Angel and Connor are celebrated in a Slayer Museum, perhaps more prominently than herself. Wesley is on the phone, wrangling the Slayers. Fadila and Ariella come down first.

"Hi Claude," Fadila says. He trades a few sentences with her in Arabic, then speaks a little Hebrew with Ariella. They both appreciate the gesture. Wesley doesn't appreciate the feeling that he's being undercut.

"Where are the others?," Claude asks.

"Making love, not war," Ariella jokes.

"Not literally," Fadila assures him. "Not yet, anyway."

"You killed a vampire on your own last night?," Connor asks Annette, further annoying Dawn.

"Slaying is like dating. You let him make the first move, and then stab him through the heart when he least expects it." Connor, who lacks a feel for metaphor, appears frightened. Annette puts her right hand on his left shoulder. "I am joking, Connor. I don't date." Dawn thinks of saying something really catty about Annette skipping right to the good part, but decides not to sound like the bitch she thinks Annette is.

"Amanda, Rona and Madari should be down momentarily," Wesley reports to Fadila and Ariella.

"How'd you pull that off?," Fadila asks.

"They're eager to train."

"Aren't they also eager to - never mind," Ariella comments. Wesley decides to walk away and enjoy a few seconds of peace. But Claude joins him.

"Ah, yes. A Watcher's oldest concern. Going back to the very beginning."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It is wise of you not to get in their way."

"If you're trying to talk about what I think you're trying to talk about, I'd rather not talk about it."

"It's important to attempt to see the world from their vantage point. What if you had extraordinary powers that made you irresistible to women while all-but-ensuring your death in a few years?" Wesley considers this prospect, and finds it terrifying.

"My Lord. It can't be that bad. Surely they would exercise more self-control."

"One can hope."

"Do you have a copy of the Nyazian Scrolls?," Annette asks Angel.

"Ugh, y-y-yes."

"Can I see? I know some Aramaic."

"Wesley's in charge of, umm, well, he's the one who understands it." He doesn't want to say Wes is in charge of prophecies after what happened with Connor.

"Cool. He'll let me see. How does it feel to read a prophecy that mentions you? It must be weird."

"Yeah." Angel's uncomfortable with her entire line of questioning.

"I wonder if by reading the scroll you change the future. Like a Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle for prophecies." She laughs. He doesn't quite get it. Fred overhears Annette and finds it hilarious. It's been so long since she's heard someone joke about Physics.

"I don't, um, I don't live my life by prophecies." Angel turns around and takes a sip of blood from his mug.

"Who does? Can you lose your soul by having a wet dream?" Angel spits the blood out. Fred no longer finds Annette so charming. Rona, Amanda and Madari arrive.

"Everyone's here," Wes announces. "Off to the training room."

"Oh, thank God," Angel says to himself. He didn't want to know what that girl could think up next.

Xander and Buffy look at Willow in her hospital bed, Buffy on her right, Xander on her left. Xander sits down. "Hi Willow. I'd hold your hand but, well, I don't really have any to spare. We're in LA now. Things are different. More space, but a lot less privacy. That, and some strange new neighbors. We miss you. We can't wait till you come back. Oh, and, umm, the new Slayers are very thankful for the gift you gave them. We all are. You saved the world, Will. Again. I just hope you'll be able to enjoy it sometime soon." There's a long pause before Buffy begins.

"When you wake up, you'll notice that a lot has changed. Giles is gone, Willow. We defeated the First Evil. The Hellmouth's closed. We survived Sunnydale. But, sometimes I wonder if it was worth the cost. Course I'll wonder a lot less once you're with us again. I don't know what you're feeling or thinking right now, but I hope it's not harsh, or scary. I hope you're not in pain. And I really hope you're not blaming yourself, because I know how awful that makes a person feel. You did what had to be done. Without you, none of us would be here."

"Sweets dreams, Willow," Xander says, kissing her on the forehead. "And see you soon."

Willow sits with Tara on a picnic blanket, drinking tea in a meadow. "I've missed you," Tara says with a shy smile.

"I've missed me too." Tara laughs. "And you." Her right hand touches Tara's left knee.

"G-g-guess who I met today?"

"Oh no." Willow looks worried.

"She was really nice. At first I thought she was hitting on me, which would, be, you know, totally weird. And creepy."

"You don't hafta tell me that."

"But she was just being polite. Turns out I'm not her type. Mostly, she just wanted to talk about you."

"Tara, I'm sorry. I-I never meant to hurt you. Ever."

"It's okay. You're young. You're beautiful. You have needs. Especially when the world's about to end and it feels like every night could be your last. I remember what that felt like," she confesses with a smile that only makes Willow feel more ashamed.

"I'm not good alone. You know that better than anyone," Willow responds with a nervous laugh.

"There's no blame here. You still loved me. Not her. She knew that. She told me. But it wasn't a problem for her. She understood. And, well, let's face it: getting to snuggle up against your naked bod every night is a pretty damn good consolation prize." Tara blushes, bites her lip and look at the ground.

"I cared for her a lot."

"She knows."

"Why are you making me feel guilty about how I treated her when I'm trying to feel guilty about how I treated you?"

"Why always guilt, Willow? Aren't there other ways to keep us alive?"

In the northeast wing of the basement is a bare room forty feet long and thirty feet wide. Rona and Amanda take turns on a heavy punching bag Angel hung in one corner. Madari practices tossing knives at a target on the wall. Fadila and Ariella playfully spar with wooden staffs while Connor watches. He complains about Ella going easy on Fadila because of her stab wound. Connor notes that was three days ago. Plenty of time to heal. He takes a look at the gash just under her left ribcage. Ever-possessive Dawn worries about Connor getting a Slayer to show him some skin, even if the Slayer in question is decidedly off-the-market. Angel talks with Madari, while Rona chats with Gunn and Amanda with Fred. Wesley walks around the room, arms folded, looking very much the school master. Claude and Annette whisper to one another while Dawn stands off by herself. "I think it's time we get started," Wesley announces.

"Started doing what?," Amanda asks. It takes him a few seconds to answer.

"Training, of course."

"Meaning what, exactly?," Amanda responds.

"Let's go boys against girls," Rona proposes.

"Meaning what, exactly?," Wesley inquires. He and Gunn aren't eager to fight Slayers.

"The three of us against Angel and Connor." Ariella and Madari nod in agreement. Connor seems eager.

"So one of us can get double-teamed?," Angel retorts. "That's hardly fair."

"You scared?," Madari wonders. The other Slayers are also baiting him. Annette steps forward into the center of the room.

"Maybe he's not ready. Maybe you're not ready. You can't know what it means to be a Slayer until you have seen what it means not to be one. Until you have seen how a girl who is not a Slayer fights a vampire."

"Are you saying you wanna fight Angel?," Fred asks incredulously.

"I'd like to experience what it is like to lose. You can't do that on the streets."

"Claude, are you all right with this?," Wesley inquires.

"My daughter is getting arrogant. Perhaps Angel can remind her of how limited her abilities are. Better to experience it here than in an alley somewhere."

"I'm not beating up your daughter." Angel doesn't quite understand Claude's strange approach of parenting. To be honest, he's a little shocked.

"You don't need to beat me up. Just beat me. Win. If you can." The Slayers like her bravado. Gunn, Wes and Fred think she's nuts.

"You're wearing a skirt. And high heels."

"Consider it a demonstration of what happens when a Slayer doesn't come to the rescue."

"You want to play the damsel?"

"Always," Annette replies with a mysterious grin.

"You're okay with this?," Angel asks Claude.

"I encourage it."

"They sure do things different in France," Fred whispers to Wes.

"Ready when you are," Annette says to Angel, bending her knees and putting her right foot forward. Everyone starts backing away towards the walls, leaving Angel all alone. He still can't believe this is for real.

"Very well then," Wesley declares. "Let the lesson begin." Angel give Wesley a look of shock. Then he looks at Claude, who leans against the wall twenty feet behind his daughter. He nods at Angel. Angel looks at Annette.

"Please don't hold back," Annette tells him. "I will be offended if you do." Angel stands there. She looks ready. He's not going to beat up on a defenseless girl. Then again, if he backs down, she and the Slayers will probably call him a coward. But, like she said, besting her did not require beating her. Because of her heels, a good blow or strong push would put Annette on her back. Then he gets on top, pins her shoulders down, leans in as if to bite her, and viola. "Let me see if you can live up to your reputation." She raises her eyebrows. He wonders if she has some sort of sick crush on him. If so, best to get this over with as soon as possible. He sends a right kick to her chest. She ducks down to her left, avoiding the blow. He quickly leaps forward to take her down, but she drops her right shoulder, transfers her weight from right to left, shoots her left arm forward and sends her palm crashing up into his nose.

"Ow!" The Slayers cheer. Annette sends her left palm towards Angel's chest. He grabs her wrist with his left hand. He hears something metal shoot out, as if released by a spring. She quickly pulls her right arm back. "Aigghh!!," Angel yells, grabbing his right hand with his left and falling to his knees. Blood drips onto the floor. Gunn, Wes and Fred stand slack-jawed. Connor has a big, goofy smile. Annette leans down and touches the stake attached to her right arm to Angel's back.

"Game, set, match. Better luck next time." She pats him on the head with her left hand. Connor's head turns as he watches her walk over to her dad.

"What the hell was that!?," Angel angrily asks. His friends rush over.

"Angel, are you all right?," Wes asks.

"I'm fine!" He gets back up.

"You sounded hurt," Fred notes. "I'll get you some bandages."

"I don't need any bandages," he maintains as the blood oozes from his right hand.

"How did you do that?," Connor asks Annette. She rolls up her right sleeve.

"I have one of those."

"Not like this one." Angel's device uses leather straps. Annette's are metal, with metal bracing running down either side of her forearm. The stake itself is two inches wide, half-an-inch thick and eight inches long, and encased in a metal sheath. Running for six inches along both sides are razor blades that stick out a quarter of an inch. "It is released by pressing a button on the inside of the wrist, which means if anyone squeezes you wrist, it shoots out. The design was my grandfather's. He lost three fingers fighting the Germans, and needed something the compensate."

"The greatest danger with a weapon such as this is that the opponent will grab it. There was a need to defend against that," Claude explains. "I refined the trigger mechanism so it could be activated by the opponent."

"This is tight," Gunn enthuses, looking over the device. He knows a thing or two about vampire-killing gadgets. "How do you get it to go back in?"

"Like this." Annette pushes in a button on the upper part of her forearm. She then easily slides the stake upwards with her left index finger. When it's all the way back in, the button shoots up, and the weapon is at rest and reloaded. Annette pulls down her sleeve.

"You guys sell these?," Gunn asks. "I'd love to buy a couple."

"I'll call my secretary, and have her mail a few here."

"That was very impressive," Wesley offers. Annette smiles from ear-to-ear.

"Thanks. Only doing what I was taught."

"What about that punch?"

"The second Clay-Liston fight," Claude explains. "The phantom punch that knocked Liston out." He reenacts as best he can the knockout "karate" punch thrown when Muhammad Ali was backing up and had his weight on his heels.

"Word!," Gunn explains. "I never of thought of trying something from boxing. Samauri movies, on the other hand," he jokes.

"The key is lateral weight transfer through the hips. It is the best punch to throw if you know you are about to be attacked by a heavier opponent." The Slayers all congratulate Annette on her impressive performance, high-fiving her and patting her on the back. It is very much like the aftermath of a championship fight. Everyone crowds around the winner, while the loser is alone. Fred returns.

"I found some bandages."

"Fred, I don't need - "

"Hold out your hand. Palm up." He obeys. She dresses his wounds. "Your nose looks a little crooked."

Angel feels it with his left hand. It was dislocated. The upward thrust of the heel of her hand did more than a head-on punch by a Slayer or Connor. He grimaces as he yanks his nose back into place. "She cheated."

"Angel . . . ," Fred sighs, dismayed that his being a sore loser.

"I was set up."

"What was that?," Claude asks with a smile.

"Nothing," Fred assures him.

"He thinks you played dirty pool," Claude says to his daughter. Having attended college in English, he picked up some Britishisms. She smiles and walks over to him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know all the demons in Los Angeles fight fair." The Slayers giggle. Connor swoons. Dawn silently fumes.

"How did you cut me?," Angel asks, curious but not angry. The pain's subsided enough for him to be magnanimous. She rolls up her sleeve and pushes a button. Angel looks over the contraption with professional curiosity. "Neat tool." He immediately recognizes the utility of the razor blades. "This is quality work." Annette retracts the stake and rolls down her sleeve.

"And the best part is, you don't see it until it's too late."

"Annette has taught us an important lesson," Wesley begins, thrilling her and trying to gain back the floor from her father. "The greatest mistake a fighter can make is to underestimate his or her opponent. Angel assumed Annette was a pushover."

"No I didn't. I assumed she had some training and experience." But Wesley was not about to let Angel spoil his flow.

"She seemed powerless, and you were powerful. Never assume the enemy is powerless."

"I didn't," Angel pleads. Wesley looks at the Slayers.

"In the future, you could be Angel, and Annette could be an ordinary-looking vampire you've cornered in an alley, who pulls out a dagger or a switchblade when you least expect it. The lesson is, there is no such thing as a routine kill. Look at Angel now, and remember that." Now this is galling. Angel being turned into a cautionary tale of what not to do. But he'll let Wesley have his moment. To object would only make himself look worse.

"Maybe you could get one of those," Connor says to Dawn. For when you're better." Just what she needs: another reminder that for the next three months she'll be a spectator.

"That leaves you," Rona says to Connor.

"Let's get it on."

"Wait one second," Wesley cautions. He knows how intense Connor can get. "No weapons. And remember, this is sparing. Not a fight to the death."

"Lucky for him," Rona responds. The Slayers have been cooling their heels for three days, and are eager to try out their new powers. Angel finds their pack mentality disconcerting, especially since it makes them want to assert local dominance by attacking the existing power structure, i.e. Angel and his son. He was all for Girl Power, so long as it didn't come at his expense. The other four Slayers stay with their new friend Annette along the side wall. Angel, Fred and Gunn are along the back wall, behind Connor. Wes is with Claude on the opposite wall, behind Rona.

"You can do it, son," Angel encourages. "Just, go easy on her." He knew that pummeling a Slayer would piss Buffy off. "Wait a second," Angel announces, walking forward. Connor resents his dad's interference. "Can we make a rule: no crotch shots?"

"I second that proposal," Dawn tentatively offers. She stands on the side wall, twenty feet to the left of the Slayers, and fifteen feet to the right of Connor. He smiles. Angel groans and retreats to the back wall. Did she have to ruin everything involving his son by bringing sex into it? The Slayers cheer Rona on as she and Connor look each other over. He takes the lead, throwing a right roundhouse kick which she blocks. Connor steps back and lands a right hook kick to the ribs and a left uppercut to Rona's stomach. She responds with a left jab and a right kick. The Slayers cheer. Connor ducks a right hook and lands a right uppercut. Rona staggers back but stays on her feet. She settles down, gets over her fear, takes a left cross to the jaw and sends Connor ten feet back with a right uppercut.

"I think I'm getting the hang of this," she says with a smile. Rona leaps at Connor and drives a flying right kick into his chest, sending Connor to the ground. He lands a few feet from his father.

"You can do it, son." Just the thing to motivate Connor: encouragement from daddy. Gunn and Fred worry that Angel's getting a little too into this fight. The way they see it, there are no winners when two good guys wail on each other. They don't know why most of the other people in the room can't see it that way. When Connor stands up, Rona leaps at him and drives Connor into the wall. Angel moves to his right just in the nick of time to avoid getting smushed. "We need to get these walls padded," he says to Charles. Rona lands two left hooks to Connor's ribs. He blocks a right cross meant for his face and slams Rona into the wall.

"I'm with ya on that," Charles responds to Angel. Rona sends her left elbow into Connor's mouth and knocks him down with a right hook.

"Next time, how 'bout boxing gloves and head gear?," Fred suggests to Angel. It was getting hard to tell the difference between training and gladiatorial combat. Connor gets up just in time to be knocked down again by a leaping right roundhouse kick he never anticipated, and which Rona had never even attempted before. She's impressed by her newfound abilities. The Slayers sense victory. Connor leaps over Rona's head, puts his feet against the ceiling, pushes off and lands behind her. When she turns, he cuts off her knees with a sweep kick. She vaults to her feet — again, something she's never done before. Connor tries a right kick but she grabs his foot. He easily does a back flip to break free. Rona tries a right roundhouse kick, which Connor ducks under before tossing her into the side wall opposite the Slayers. He throws a right cross for her face, but she ducks, and his fist goes through the drywall and into the concrete. She sends him back with a left hook and a right uppercut. When she approaches and tries another left hook, he leaps fifteen feet to his right, towards Wesley and Claude. When she attacks again, he leaps to his right and bounces off the side wall back to the center of the room.

"This ain't hopscotch," Rona taunts.

"What's the matter? Can't keep up?" This goads Rona into trying a leaping right kick, which Connor ducks under, rolling past her. Now his superior experience in utilizing his super powers comes into play against the neophyte Slayer. He leans back away from a right hook and hits her chest with a right kick. He tosses left and right hooks which force her to cover her face and back up. Though she blocks the four blows, he's clearly assumed control of the fight. Connor lands a left kick to her stomach and a right uppercut to her chin. It is at this point that Buffy hops into the room. Connor connects with two quick left jabs and a right hook. Rona lands a right hook to Connor's left ear. He goes back to working the body with two left crosses and a right uppercut, follow by left and right hooks to her head. Rona goes down on her right knee. Connor raises his right fist to put her on her back. But Buffy wallops him in the back of the head with her wooden crutch. Rona gets to her feet and knocks the dazed Connor down with a right hook.

"What the hell was that for!?," Angel demands to know as he walks towards Buffy. The Slayers call it a victory for Rona. Connor just glares at Buffy and sulks off to the corner nearest Dawn.

"What was that for!? He was brutalizing a Slayer."

"They were training," Wesley assures her.

"You call that training? He was trying to beat her into unconsciousness."

"It was her idea," Dawn offers.

"Yeah B," Rona explains. "We were just havin' fun. Right Connor?"

"Sure."

"No hard feelings?"

"Naw." They shake hands. "Who's next?"

"I think we're done for today," Angel argues. He's not too eager about his son turning himself into a Slayer punching bag. Buffy can't conceive of a context in which the activities she witnessed could be considered fun without them being the preliminaries to rough sex. And that definitely wasn't in the offing, thank God.

"I think we've run out of bodies for today," Wesley tells the Slayers. "Unless you want to fight each other." He meant for that to reinforce his point, not as a serious question, which is how Ariella and Madari take it.

"Girl-on-girl action doesn't do it for me," Amanda jokes. "Did that come out wrong? No, it's right, whichever way you take it."

"I think Angel's still got a few rounds left in him," Ariella proposes.

"I'm sorry," Angel responds. "I'm just not into fighting Slayers."

"For the first time, I miss Spike," Rona declares.

"You're not afraid?," Madari asks Angel.

"This is not a contest to see who has the biggest . . . okay, wrong expression. Look, when I fight, it's serious. It's not play. I fight to the death. Which I don't think you want."

"You're right," Ariella remarks. "Your friends might miss you."

"Okay, that's enough macho posturing for one afternoon," Buffy declares.

"How can it be macho?," Fadila asks. "We're girls."

"Macho posturing is macho posturing, whether or not you have a penis."

"That should be carved on a plaque somewhere," Annette jokes.

"Angel, your nose is swollen. And you hand's bandaged. Which one of you hurt him?" Annette smiles as she slowly raises her had.

"Very funny."

"Not to him it wasn't. Go ahead, ask him about our fight." A perplexed Buffy looks at Angel.

"She had something up her sleeve."

"What?," Buffy asks, laughing. "Superpowers?"

"A weapon," Angel sheepishly replies. "She's tougher than she looks." Buffy looks Annette over.

"You mean like Dawn?" Her sister does not appreciate the comparison. Connor does.


	15. Vampires Women Want

Mal meets a young and impressionable Darla. Annette tries to make nice with Dawn. And Kate pays Angel a visit.

Bavaria. Summer, 1645. Mal's horse gallops in the moonlight, dragging along two captured soldiers. He stops at a cave in the Swabian hills, helping the dazed and bloody prisoners to their feet, then leading them into a deep part of the cave, where there is light. Mal drops the rope and leaps down into the cavern, where there are nine vampires. "Who dares to enter!?," a male vampire demands in German.

"Who dares to question me?," Mal replies in German before casually tossing the fellow thirty feet across the room. At first, the Master can't believe his eyes. "Hein!" The vampires stare blankly. "They don't even know your name," Mal says in Latin. He stalks the room in his high black riding boots, tight brown leather pants and puffy white shirt, taking off his cavalier's hat. His hair is only a quarter inch high, much shorter than it would be when he fought Angel. "Everyone wears pants, Hein. Who would have thought that back in Antioch, when we all wore robes and togas?," he jokes about the Master's early years during the heyday of the Roman Empire. All the vampires are waiting for their Master to beat down this interloper, and can't understand why he just stands there, doing nothing.

"I thought you were dead," the Master finally offers, again in Latin.

"Ha! Who could kill me? In this world or any other?"

"It's been more than a thousand years."

"I have been busy, Hein. So many demons to subjugate. So few centuries. Tell me Hein, how has your plan to subjugate the humans going?," he asks with a wicked smile. Darla doesn't understand most of the Latin, but she realizes the black man is calling her Master "Hein," which she finds most undignified. She approaches Mal from behind.

"We call him Master," she says in English. He turns around and puts his left hand through her hair, causing her a mix of fear and exhilaration. Whoever he is, he radiates power.

"Not even God is my Master," he tells her in heavily-accented English. How bold. And deliciously blasphemous. He lets go of her. She smiles nervously. The Master finally walks over and seeks to regain control of the situation.

"A lot has changed since you left the scene," he says in English, hoping Mal will be less proficient in this language.

"You used to be so much prettier," he tells the Master sorrowfully. His minions can't understand why he hasn't ripped the black man's head off. "You used to live with Them. Now you hide from Them." Mal turns around and walks away. The Master kicks him in the back, knocking him down. His minions smile. Mal gets up and walks towards the shaft. "I bring gifts." Mal pulls the rope, and down come the two battered soldiers. Darla gets a big smile on her face.

"Swedes!" She rushes over and digs into one of them.

"If you're nice, I'll bring more," he tells the Master's minions. "I killed thirty eight this evening. Sixteen I fed from, and twenty I left to rot. Their lead balls bounce off me. Their pikes are feeble." He smiles. "Except when I'm wielding one." Darla finishes the first soldier and starts on the second. None of the other minions feel bold enough to accept the interloper's gift. Yet the Master does not punish Darla. Mal looks around at the five men and two other women, realizing who the favorite is.

"Hunting is beneath me," the Master says, dismissing Mal's exploits. "I have a higher calling."

"You and every other demon," Mal snorts. "We get strength from the humans. Without them, we're nothing. Don't you understand?"

"You want to be their slave?"

"Is a lion a slave to the antelope?"

"You never learn. You never change. You never, grow."

"We don't all grow uglier as we grow stronger." The enraged Master throws a right hook. Mal grabs his right arm and throws the Master face-first into a wall. The minions set upon him. He reaches his right arm out, grabs someone's neck and squeezes, turning him to dust. Darla, who's next to this guy, decides it would be smart to back away. Mal goes on the attack against those who surround him, landing a right cross, left roundhouse punch, right kick, split kick and left jab. All six opponents fly away, as if hit with an explosion. Mal rips off his shirt, cognizant of his splendid physique's ability to impress and intimidate. He goes after three men, hitting the one to his right with a right jab, the one to his left with a right cross, and the one in front of him with a left jab to the throat, pinning the vampire against the wall and crushing his spine so that Mal hits the stone on his follow-through. He flies across the room, grabs a female vampire by her hair, and twists her head clean off, holding it up for the others to see. The Master can't allow Mal to kill his followers. "These are your legions!," Mal taunts. The Master pounds his face with a left hook. Mal's head shoots to the left for an instant, but his feet don't even budge. Darla's never seen anyone withstand the Master like that.

"That is the last time you will hit me," Mal vows. The Master yells and throws a right cross that Mal backs his head away from. The Master lands a left to his stomach. "In the face. You may hit my body all you want." The Master lands a right hook to his ribs. "It's like fighting a brick wall." The Master tries a left cross, which Mal dodges before connecting with three quick right jabs and a left hook that sends the Master to the ground. His followers gasp. Mal senses that the only one who views him with awe rather than hate is Darla. He walks over to her. Naturally, she think he's going to kill her. Mal puts his left hand on her forehead and pushes down, leading her to fall to her knees. "Have no fear, my child." She gazes up in wonder at this God-like visitor. The Master can't abide this. He runs over and grabs Mal, pulling him away from her and tossing Mal across the room. He hits the wall with a low thud and stays on his feet. The other vampires flee, wanting to stay as far away from this strange and deadly creature as possible. They had never met a human-looking demon who was so quick, so strong and so durable. He hadn't even shown his vampire face yet. Which means he's only getting warmed up.

"You always have loved the yellow-haired," Mal says about the Master's clear preference for Darla over the others. "But you used to prefer fake to natural. Remember in Roman Carthage, when that was the thing to do?" The Master slowly approaches and unloads a right cross, left jab, right hook kick, left hook and right hook. Mal dodges or blocks all blows and hits the Master in the chest with a straight left kick, causing him to stagger back ten feet. Mal leaps forward, grabbing the Master and pushing him back into the wall just to the left of Darla. Then he lifts the Master up, tosses him into the ceiling, and watches as he falls face-first to the floor. His minions are devastated. The Master quickly gets up. "Kneel."

"Never." The Master throws a right hook. Mal grabs his fist and squeezes. The Master grimaces but does not cry out in pain.

"You have gotten stronger." If Mal did this to a normal vampire, he'd crush every bone in his hand. The Master tries a left uppercut. Mal grabs his wrist. "So have I." Mal spins and throws him into the wall, which he hits six feet off the ground. Mal then leaps forward and kicks the Master on his way down. When the Master tries to get up, he nails him in the mouth with a left hook kick. Then, finally, he goes bumpy, showing everyone his glowing red eyes and nearly three inch-long fangs. If he had done this at the beginning, they would have acquiesced without a fight. But where's the fun in that? Mal lets loose a deafening roar that echoes around the cavern. After eyeing all the other vampires, he looks at Darla and approaches her. She falls to her knees and lowers her head in supplication. Then she looks up again at his face, and those magnificent teeth. They weren't jagged. There was no overbite. They shone in the darkness, gleaming white. They were perfect. Like everything else about him. He returns to his human face, puts his right hand under her chin and lifts her head up. She rises to her feet.

"You don't like to be hidden in the darkness. I have a castle at Ulm, where the rivers meet." It had been a small fort, before Mal slaughtered the garrison, earning the thanks of the townspeople, whom he promised to protect from the deprivations of the various marauding armies. After two decades of rape, murder and pillaging, they view the black stranger as a gift from God, since he defends their lives and property while asking for nothing in return.

"Does it have a tower? With a view?"

"In every direction. You can see for miles."

"And you're lonely?," she asks, looking for some reciprocity of feeling.

"I lack, excitement." Darla smiles. He points at his shirt on the ground. "Would you mind?" Darla pouts. She liked him so much better without one. But she complies and fetches it, along with his hat. He puts the shirt on and carefully smooths out the wrinkles, then places the hat on his head just so.

"Your vanity will be your downfall," the Master predicts, recognizing that Mal is as self-centered as he was more than a millennium ago. Mal turns around to face the Master, who has yet to stand up because he knows that would invite another beating.

"Your contempt will be yours," Mal responds, referring to the Master's low view of humanity. He puts his left arm around Darla's waist. "Desire trumps devotion," he tells the Master. Mal takes Darla in his arms and walks out. She puts her arms around his neck and stares admiringly at his handsome face. The Master stands up. He knows Mal has cost him a major loss of face in the eyes of his followers. They didn't know he could bleed, that his face could show blue and purple bruises.

"She'll be back. He'll be gone soon." After all, he knows Mal could never care for a vampire the way he cares for the vampire he will one day name Darla. Outside, she spins in the warm night air and smiles. Mal picks her up and places her on the horse. Ever the consummate show-off, Mal stands in front of the horse with his back to the animal, leaps in the air, does a back flip and lands on the saddle. Darla yells with excitement, wraps her arms around his waist, fondles his impossibly well-developed abdominal muscles and rests her head on his right shoulder.

"Where to now?"

"Do you like Franks?" She thinks for a second and realizes he means Frenchmen.

"No more Swedes?" Actually, yes. They had agreed to pay him tribute. But he knew this tactic generally didn't impress the ladies, who found it unmanly to trade blood for gold. Of course, they loved the things he bought for them with that gold.

"They are hiding in houses. But the Franks are camped in the open. Did you know that we don't need to be invited into tents?" This is news to Darla. She'd never attacked thousands of armed men with thousands of steel swords and wooden tent poles. Then again, she'd never seen anyone beat the crap out of her Master.

"I suppose I could go for a French feast. And for dessert?" She bites his right earlobe.

"Patience. We have all day for that." He kicks the horse, which gallops westwards.

"ALL day?"

"I don't sleep. I have to do something to pass the time."

Annette stands in the office, holding up Mal's skull in her right hand. "Alas, poor Mal. I knew him . . . " She starts laughing. "No I didn't." She puts it back on the book case.

"It's all right," Wesley tells her. "I did the same thing. It's hard to resist." Wesley leaves to talk with the Slayers. Xander enters.

"Are you the girl who beat up Angel?"

"Beat up, no. Hurt, yes." Xander smiles.

"That's incredible. Him being a vampire, and you being a non-Slayer."

"He's a man. Men are weak. They think the world of themselves." Xander's not sure how to respond to that one.

"Anyway, I wish I could have, you know, seen you in action."

"Maybe you can come patrolling with me. When your fractured arm heals." She takes hold of his prosthetic left hand. "Did Nina also do this?"

"No. Her brother did. She broke the other arm."

"You've stood up to two Titans, and lived to tell the tale. Not very many men, not very many anything, can say that." Xander smiles.

"Why, thank you. So what are the vampires like in France? Do they drink wine, wear berets and have little pencil-thin mustaches?" She gets that he's joking and laughs.

"I can't say. We don't, exactly, hang out. And a lot of them are from other countries. Like Spike, the vampire you worked with. My great-grandfather lost an eye fighting him."

"That's horrible. Whatever happened to an eye for an eye? I'd say your family deserved justice if Spike wasn't already dead."

"He did burn Spike with a branding iron. Very badly."

"You don't say?" Xander smiles.

"We have the iron, and the melted skin, in our store room." Xander finds that rather grizzly. "I suppose we could try and clone him one day," she jokes.

"Believe me. That's the last thing the world needs."

"You don't like the ensouled vampires. Why?" Xander has trouble coming up with a response other than jealously.

"It's not that I dislike them, per se, so much as I have vivid memories of them both trying to kill me and my friends at various times."

"Fair enough. I'm not friendly with anyone who's tried to kill me either," she quips.

"Well, you're still young," Xander jokes back. "How young?," he innocently inquires.

"Eighteen." This wasn't the answer Xander was hoping for, since it further tempts him. Dawn's unnerved by Xander's interest in Annette, since she's only a year older than Dawn.

"Oh. Interesting. It was great talking to you, Annette."

"Thank you. You're a very funny for a demon fighter. They tend to be so serious." She furrows her brow to mimic brooding.

"I'm a demon fighter? I fight demons, I've fought demons for years. But no one ever called me that. I finally have a title." Having been thoroughly charmed by Annette, he leaves the room to go talk to Buffy. Dawn continues looking through the books Claude is preparing to repatriate.

"We'll send you copies on disc. Unless you're coming to Paris."

"What?"

"Isn't that what Buffy is doing?"

"She hasn't said anything."

"It's where the Council is. We can find apartments for you. And she's not needed here."

"I don't think she's looking that far ahead. She buried her Watcher yesterday, and one of her best friends is still in a coma." Dawn thinks Annette is sounding insensitive. Actually, Dawn thinks Annette is insensitive.

"I miss Rupert, too. He was like an uncle to me. Godfather, actually." Connor enters the office. He looks excited.

"Hey Annette. You wanna go hunting with me?"

"You sure you can keep up?" Connor laughs. "Seriously, I fear you'd scare the vampires away."

"You think I look that tough?"

"Well, I suppose you could appear fragile and vulnerable and, umm, biteable if you had to." Connor smiles and blushes. Fadila calls for Connor and he dutifully runs back into the lobby.

"Don't even think about it," Dawn warns. "He's mine." Annette is taken aback by the implication. She's also unnerved by the fact that Dawn looks like she wants to scratch her eyes out.

"I'm sorry. I did not know I was . . . " Dawn looks very skeptical. "I don't even want him. I wouldn't, even if he were available."

"Connor's not good enough for you?"

"He's sweet. And cute, I suppose."

"Suppose? He's gorgeous."

"But he's not smart."

"Connor is very - "

"Sorry. Learned."

"That's not his fault. He didn't go to school. He never even saw a book growing up."

"This is coming out wrong. I don't like macho-men fighters. Too much maintenance. Too large egos. I like scholars. With glasses. Maybe a tiny bit clumsy. If I'm going to be a Watcher at the office, I don't want to also have to be a Watcher at home."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I wasn't talking about you," Annette replies, further causing Dawn to think she was. Just then, the phone rings. After the second ring, Dawn decides to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"Dawn."

"Oh. How are my visions?," Cordelia asks.

"Not bad. Except for the three-dimensional gore."

"Yeah. And that only gets worse over time. Is Angel there?"

"Could you get him?," Dawn asks Annette, since she's the one with two good legs. "He'll be right there," she tells Cordy.

"So . . . how's Connor?"

"Good."

"Good. You're not uncomfortable talking to me because I slept with him?"

"No. That was before we even met. Besides, he says you weren't that great." Angel enters. Dawn hands him the phone and hops out of the room.

"No need to get all bitchy about it," Cordy says.

"What?," Angel asks.

"Oh. Angel! Sorry. I thought you were, not you. Forget about it."

"Gladly. It's great to hear from you. Things have been kind of crazy, living with Xander, and Anya. And the five new Slayers."

"And Buffy." Angel had wanted to avoid that hornet's nest.

"She's in a cast. And in mourning. And, with a lot of other stuff to deal with." Hopefully, that would take care of Cordy's fears about what he's doing with Buffy.

"I get it. The girl's got problems even without the Hellmouth."

"How's New York treating you?"

"Good. I haven't found a place to live yet. But I think I've made a friend. You know that summer course I said I wanted to take? I really hit it off with the teacher, and I went to brunch with her friends this morning. They're hilarious."

"Any demons?," Angel jokes. Cordy laughs.

"No. Although one of them does seem to have a super-human, never mind."

"What did you, talk about, with them?," Angel asks.

"Not my life. Not my real life, anyway. I sort of edited out a lot of the stuff that would make me sound crazy."

"What's left?"

"Quite a bit, actually. It's surprisingly easy to sanitize your life and hide all the truly traumatic parts," Cordy says with a sigh. "Okay, it's tough trying to leave your world behind. But probably not as tough as staying in it."

Carrie stands in the bedroom of her "lover" Aleksander Petrovski, a world-renowned artist twenty years her senior. "Is something bothering you?," he asks.

"Not really."

"Something's on your mind. What is it, Carrie?"

"The truth?"

"Why not?"

"Okay. Brace yourself. I was thinking about . . . vampires," she confesses with a cringe.

"Were you attacked by one?"

"Very funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Oh no. Don't tell me you also – is it an artist thing?"

"More of a Russian thing. I heard stories in my youth. Once, I remember a man getting beheaded before burial to prevent him from rising."

"Some superstitions die hard. No pun intended."

"I've heard there are even some in Manhattan."

"They can afford the rents? What's a furnished coffin go for on the Upper East Side - fifteen hundred a month?"

"Maybe they've left. But there were rumors of one at Studio 54."

"That doesn't surprise me. It wouldn't have been the weirdest thing at that club. People probably wouldn't have even noticed," Carrie quips.

"I think that was the idea. He was English. Complete and utter working class poser. Went around yelling Disco bloody sucks' and trying to start fights."

"Sounds more like a soccer hooligan than a vampire."

"Except that the women he was seen leaving the club with had a habit of turning up dead."

"You'd think with a track record like that, they'd learn to stay away."

"From what I've heard, most vampires are physically repugnant parasites. But a select few live up to the suave reputation you westerners have given them.

"If we split up we'll cover more ground," Ariella argues.

"You'll also put yourself in greater danger," Buffy responds.

"You need bait," Claude argues to Buffy's consternation. "Every hunter needs bait. What about your boyfriends?" Buffy's jaw drops at the insensitive suggestion. But Madari and Rona smile.

"A Slay date," Madari replies.

"We've saved 'em before," Rona points out, each of them fondly remembering the moment.

"No no no no no," Buffy declares. "What would we say to their parents, if something happened? How could we live with ourselves? You don't bring outsiders into this."

"You have your friends helping out," Rona replies. "Why can't we do the same?"

"Well, not a whole gang, because that could get unwieldy," Madari clarifies. "But one person?"

"Have they ever seen a vampire?," Wesley inquires.

"Yeah," Rona answers.

"We've saved them," Madari adds. "Well, Rona and Amanda have. I haven't. Yet."

"That's kinda how we got together," Rona comments.

"Then I don't see the harm in teaching him how to defend himself and render assistance," Claude concludes.

"It's not your decision," Wesley retorts, trying to balance the desires of his Slayers with the justified concerns of Buffy.

"Who's decision is it?," Ariella asks. They think for a few seconds, then look at Buffy, who's not in a terribly authoritarian mood after the apocalypse she failed to prevent on her own. Then Buffy looks at the door and smiles.

"Kate."

"Buffy." Kate walks over and hugs her. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I-I didn't expect to see you here either. Did you come all this way to see me?" Kate takes a few seconds before responding.

"Actually, I'm here to see someone else." Wesley dashes out of the lobby and up the stairs.

"Guess he doesn't like you," Rona jokes. Sensing something was up that he had nothing to do with, Claude goes into the office to talk with his daughter.

"So, you're staying here. Like half the rest of Sunnydale," Kate says to Buffy.

"Yeah."

"How's the room?"

"Comfy."

Wesley bursts into Angel's/Buffy's room, where Angel is reading. He pants to catch his breath. "Wes, is something wrong?" Wesley holds up his hand and takes a few more deep breaths before speaking.

"Kate," he takes a couple more breaths, "Is in the lobby."

"Kate? You mean - ?"

"Detective Kate Lockley." Angel looks worried. Then alarmed.

"Has she - ?"

"Talked to Buffy? Yes. And neither is sure why the other is here." Angel races out of his room, leaps over the balcony and lands in the lobby, startling Kate.

"Angel."

"Kate. Long time no see," he quickly and nervously replies.

"You know Angel?," Buffy asks Kate.

"YOU know Angel?," Kate responds.

"Well, well, well. This is getting juicy," Anya notes to Xander from behind the counter.

"Of course I know Kate," Angel responds as if it's no big deal. "She used to work for the LAPD. In fact, she's the one who arrested me, the last time you were here."

"Really," Buffy replies, astonished. "That was you?"

"Kate, can we go somewhere and talk?," Angel asks.

"Sure. We do seem to have a lot to talk about." The two of them walk into the rear courtyard. Buffy's left with a lot of unanswered questions.

"Tell you what. If it's all right with you, take the night off. Tomorrow we'll be at full strength," she tells the girls.

"Great," Madari says.

"Thanks," Rona adds before the two of them rush off to their boyfriends. Ariella's left alone.

"You get hitched, you go soft," she jokes.

"I remember the last time we talked out here," Kate says to Angel.

"You seem to be doing a lot better now."

"I'm not the only one who's life has changed." They pause for a long time.

"How did you meet Rupert Giles?"

"How did you become a father? Okay, I think my question trumps yours."

"It wasn't something I planned on," Angel jokes.

"The intense, slightly frightening young man who claims you're his father also claims Darla as his mother. Assuming he's not making any of this up – and, let's face it, who would? – did you sleep with her before or after she began massacring people? Cause, if that's your turn-on, no wonder we never got off the ground," she quips.

"It was right after I got your message. The one you left when you were about to commit suicide."

"Oh." Kate looks stunned. "What!? How does that lead you to, you know - ?" He was more twisted than she ever imagined.

"It made me lose hope. It convinced me I couldn't make a difference. As had a lot of other things. But you giving up, because of me, that was the final straw."

"So, I'm to blame?"

"You say that like he's something bad."

"So, I'm to thank?," she asks with a chuckle.

"Actually, maybe you should thank Darla," Angel jokes back.

"Wait a second," Kate interrupts. "What about your curse?" Angel appears shocked.

"You knew about that?"

"Not when I knew you. But people talk."

"Which people?"

"It's not exactly a secret, Angel. Although, if I had known about it when we met, I wouldn't have been so disappointed." Angel smiles and appears flattered and intrigued. Kate wishes she hadn't said that.

"Disappointed?"

"It's not like I carried a torch around for you. But no girl likes to get turned down or ignored. Now I know part of the reason had nothing to do with me. Anyway, how'd you do it without losing your . . . ? Ohh. You wanted to, but when you couldn't, you decided you had no choice but to keep on being Mister Good Guy." She pauses again and looks a bit unsettled. "And then you came to my place? Perfect. I'm the girl you go to afterwards to talk."

"And revive, if I remember correctly."

"So, if that's what I am, what's Buffy?" Angel does not look eager to answer this question. "How does she fit into all this?" Several seconds of silence follow.

"We used to date," he grudgingly admits.

"Used to? When she was even younger? Sorry. I'm really not in a position to judge." She starts laughing.

"My relationship with Buffy is a lot of things. Humorous isn't one of them."

"It's not you. It's the new vampire. The one who now appears to be dead. Permanently."

"You mean Spike?"

"Yeah. The bottle blonde. Talk about a drop. From you to him? No wonder she seemed so morose." All of a sudden, Angel feels a rush of affection for Kate.


End file.
